


Mark Your Love in Ink

by Cats_Obsessions



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Geralt is still a Witcher, M/M, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soulmate Tattoos, but like the broke starving artist kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cats_Obsessions/pseuds/Cats_Obsessions
Summary: Jaskier has always known he has a soulmate. The ink of tattoos have been appearing on his skin since he was born. He spends his whole life wondering who they are, what they'll be like. When he's eighteen, he gets a tattoo to let them know he exists, but there's no response. Three years later, Jaskier begins to wonder if he'll ever meet them at all. Funny how fate has a way of bringing people together.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 121
Kudos: 1040





	1. Call Me

**Author's Note:**

> I have other fics and irl responsibilities I should be working on, but this came to me as I was falling asleep yesterday, and I had to write it all at once like some kind of fever dream??? So, here you go!

Jaskier always knew. There was not a second of his life that he hadn’t known he had a soulmate. He was born with the silhouette of a wolf on his ribs. At first, it looked like a blotched birthmark, but after a few years, the shape became clearer. His parents had wondered if he was cursed, but after a visit to an herbalist and a pellar, it was clear it was just a tattoo- the mark of a soulmate.

Something about the purposeful act of marking one’s skin was transferred through the bond. Other things like piercing and scars weren’t shared. Most say that’s because damage is rarely chosen, but who really knows?

Not everyone has a soulmate, but some do- people scattered across the world that their souls are bound to. No amount of space or time can separate them, nor can simple magic remove the bond. Its furiously romantic, at least Jaskier had always thought so.

It was entrenched in their society; people going as far back in time as tattoos themselves wrote of marking themselves when they came of age in hopes of finding another meant for them by fate itself.

The ink appearing across his skin over time sparked as much curiosity as excitement. There were questions, whispered between his parents when they thought he couldn’t hear, musings and worries. Why were the marks appearing at such a young age? What kind of scallion would have all these tattoos? Do they not know they affect someone else? Will he be able to get a job with his markings? Jaskier always rolled his eyes at that one.

They made him cover up, shoved him in turtle necks and long-sleeved shirts even through the sweltering summers. The more he got, the more ashamed his parents became, but Jaskier only felt more of a thrill. They were beautiful, too- tastefully placed and clearly done by good artists. Though he was always most fond of the wolf, he loved each of them: a large arch-griffon showed up on his bicep in middle school, some Latin quote on his chest his senior year, the skull of something very inhuman on his calf in college- a leshen, he thinks.

There weren’t too many, and they seemed to revolve around the fantastical world of monsters and myth- the types of things that were rare in this world. They still existed, but humans had driven many innocent creatures to extinction.

That was another point of contention with his parents, though most things were. It wasn’t a surprise when Jaskier left at the age of sixteen, flying across the continent and enrolling in Oxenfurt University. Two years later was when he got his first tattoo- he thought of himself as pretty clever for it, too.

\---------

It’s late autumn when Geralt sees it.

He wakes up late, the wind howling outside against the rickety windows of his apartment. He had dealt with a drowner problem the night before. Of course, the contractor he was working for said it was only a few when it ended up being at least a dozen. And of course, he was underpaid _again_. But it was work. The results of it, though, left him exhausted and sore from the unexpected battle. He stumbles into the little, dimly lit bathroom to take a shower, pulling his shirt over his head as he does so.

Stark black lines stand out against his pale skin below the wolf on his ribs. It’s a phone number. Above it are the little words “call me” embellished with a heart.

 _Fuck_.

He feels like he’s on fire, that hot sensation in his cheeks he’d recognize as blush- if he could blush. Which he can’t, right? But there’s panic, too. How could this possibly be?! Witchers don’t have soulmates. Fuck, most people don’t think witchers have souls! And look at him, he’s given this person more than enough ink against their will. That thought makes him sick. Almost as sick as the thought of having a soulmate.

He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. He doesn’t get another tattoo to offer an explanation or anything. He just ignores it, which isn’t that hard to do, really. It’s not in a terribly visible place, and if he keeps his eyes away from the mirror when he showers, he almost forgets about it. But he still feels it; every time he remembers it, it’s like fire burning a hole in his side, taunting him, reminding him someone out there is waiting for a prince charming, and he’s what they got.

\---

Three years pass like that, Geralt ignoring the tattoos that pop up on his body from time to time, none of which cover the phone number. The other tattoos aren’t bad- even beautiful. He gets a set of flowers on his shoulder blade, lovely and shaded perfectly; a set of oddly specific music notes appear on his foot, though he doesn’t know what song they’re from; a songbird on his arm, adding to his collection perfectly; his favorite is a small minimalistic portrait of a wolf surrounded by yellow flowers that appears on his wrist one summer.

Late at night when he’s alone with his thoughts, Geralt lets himself imagine that they got that because of him- because of the first wolf tattoo he got. He lets himself think maybe they think of him fondly, associate the wolf with him, and chose to put that tattoo in such a visible place for him.

It’s not true, though, and he knows it.

Even if it were true, they would change their mind if they knew him- knew what he is.

\--

He gets a contract to clear out the warehouses on the edge of the city, deep within the less savory parts of town. Here, humans are more likely a danger than monsters, but still, some do stalk the streets, especially late at night.

The man that hired him said he didn’t know what beasts laid in his warehouse, simply that a worker had turned up dead with what looked like scratch marks, time of death estimated around midnight. Blind jobs were always the worst. If the man died at midnight, Geralt will have to wait until then to approach as some creatures only transformed or showed themselves deep into the night.

He decides to kill time at a local bar in preparation. He has never been here before, some odd little college bar, but the food smells good and they have alcohol; nothing else matters.

He sits by himself, running through his list of things he needs to do this week as he waits for his food- maybe he should buy Roach a new toy if this pays well… his eyes shift to wander around the room and take note of the patrons. They’re the usual, grungy broke college kids and people with drinking problems. There’s an alarming overlap between the groups. Then, his eyes shift to where a single musician is setting up for live music.

He looks young; soft hair frames his boyish face with big blue eyes. He’s bright: bright smile, bright eyes, bright clothing- he wears a denim jacket with far too many buttons and patches stuck to it, a colorful floral T-shirt underneath, too tight black jeans, and are those white converse hand-painted with yet more flowers. The kids are still doing that?

Yet, as he begins to sing, Geralt can’t help but keep glancing at him. A song or two go by; his voice is lovely, deeper than he had expected, and it gets harder and harder to look away. It’s a ballad that really captures the witcher’s attention. It’s sad and lonesome, singing about longing for love. Something about it weighs heavy on his heart.

_“They say love is mankind’s greatest joy/_

_But what if I can never find you?”_

When the waitress comes by with his food, Geralt finds he doesn’t even glance at her, somehow transfixed by the young man’s singing. His singing is magical. Of course, Geralt knows it’s not literally magical, but it has been a long time since he’s felt drawn to someone like this- if ever.

The song ends and the singer shifts to something more upbeat, some attempted crowd-pleaser, and Geralt shakes the feeling off. He returns his focus to his meal, scrolling through mindless nothings on his phone.

\--

When Jaskier finishes his last set, only a few claps can be heard throughout the bar. One asshole says a little too loudly “He’s finally done!”. He sighs in defeat, but this isn’t exactly the live music kinda bar. It’s… actually gross. The floors are awfully sticky. If only he could get a spot in one of the better venues in town, then maybe he could get a break. But music is competitive here.

None of that matters when his eyes lock on the mysterious and gorgeous man brooding in the corner of the bar. He seems to be the strong silent type, sitting alone with his food and an empty beer. He has long white hair, pulled half up. T-shirt under, leather jacket, and are those biker boots? He looks like trouble- no, he looks like danger and heartbreak, and _exactly_ what Jaskier needs in his life.

The musician snags two beers off a waitress’s platter, ignoring her fussing as he moves in closer toward the man.

“As a musician, patrons are typically supposed to offer me free drinks, but I figured I’d make an exception this once.” He says, placing the darker beer in front of the man, hoping he got his preferences right.

He seems to ponder it for a moment, breathtaking golden eyes assessing the beer, then Jaskier. Finally, the man accepts it, taking a long drink before scooting his basket of French fries towards Jaskier “Would the starving artist like a fry?” His voice is deep and gravely and _perfect_.

“Who said I was starving?” He grins, though he does take a fry, quite happily.

The man ‘Hm’s at him, thoughtful, yet somehow playful “Must be if you’re playing in a dump like this.”

“Fair enough,” Jaskier smiles- or, continues to smile. “I’m Jaskier, by the way.”

His companion doesn’t reply immediately, eventually responding “Geralt.”

“So, Geralt, you know I’m a starving artist. What do you do?”

That seems to entertain him as Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him, a sly smirk on his face. “You don’t know, do you?”

Jaskier scrunches his eyebrows together “That’s why I’m asking?”

Geralt huffs amusedly “Call it security.”

“For shitty bars?”

“No.”

Jaskier fakes a pout, fluttering his eyelashes “Aw, and I had already been planning to come back to see you.” He watches as Geralt rolls his eyes- his golden… _cat eyes_. In the dim lighting of the bar, his pupils had been big enough to seem round, but Jaskier notices them contract slightly, forming something more adjacent to slivers. And suddenly, it makes sense. His hair, the medallion around his neck, the brooding- the musician gasps “You’re a witcher!” he says, almost giddy with excitement.

There’s nothing meek about Geralt in the slightest. Yet, for a moment he looks as though he wants to crawl under the table. It doesn’t bother Jaskier, though, who is nearly grinning ear to ear “Oh, how wonderful! Tell me everything,” he demands, leaning farther across the table.

Geralt gazes at him quizzically, actually surprised by his reaction “Not really supposed to share details with strangers.”

“Ah, you probably don’t want to talk about work, anyways. Perhaps another time,” he adds slyly. The witcher does not offer to redirect the conversation, seemingly content with his silence. Though, he doesn’t object when Jaskier snags more of his fries. The musician goes as far as leaning across the table to dip them in the little container of ketchup Geralt has sitting in front of him. That’s when he notices the squiggly outlines of black on Geralt’s arm, just barely showing under the cusp of his sleeve.

“Oh, you have tattoos,” Jaskier points out cheerily.

He had expected Geralt to offer to show him, but he only gets an affirmative “Hm,”

“I love tattoos!” he pushes “I only have a few myself, but I always want more. They’re addictive, you know. Can I see them?”

“Fine.” Geralt says as if it were a burden, but he sees him smirk, however subtle. Ah, so Jaskier chose the right topic, after all.

He watches a little too closely as Geralt shucks off the leather jacket. At first, Jaskier focuses on his muscles- _gods_ he’s muscular. It almost looks like he’s going to rip his shirt, the way the fabric strains as he pushes off his jacket. But then, with his arms showing, Jaskier’s eyes freeze on the tattoos- the familiar arch-Griffin, his wolf with flowers, the swallow. _Jaskier’s tattoos_. And suddenly he feels like he can’t think, can’t process what’s going on. The sound of the bar patrons in the background all but drowns out to the pounding of his heartbeat.

Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He closes it, then tries again. “Why didn’t you call me, you prick?!” Jaskier exclaims, nearly jumping over the table with the way he’s out of his seat in an instant, the chair making a loud squeak against the hard floor as a result. A few people turn to look at them, but he doesn’t notice.

He thought his plan was foolproof, thought for sure that his soulmate would call, and when they didn’t, the tattoos stopped too. It was the worst feeling Jaskier had ever experienced. He doesn’t know how long or how much he cried. He thought they might have died!

“Do you know I had to pay a hundred dollars to keep that phone number last time I switched phone providers? Just in case you called!” Jaskier fusses, though that really probably shouldn’t be what he’s most concerned about right now.

“What are you talking about?” Geralt asks, voice suddenly cold and harsh.

Jaskier rushes to push his jacket sleeves up, hands shaking with anticipation. However, when his tattoos, and heart, are finally bared to the witcher, he recoils.

“We’re soulmates, bounded by fate!” Jaskier beams, hoping his excitement will rub off on the other man. “I’ve been waiting forever to meet you.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

The words are flat and dull, said as though they weren’t crushing. Jaskier tries not to take it personally. A lot of people are frightened when they meet their soulmate. And- well, Geralt’s a witcher. They’re notorious for being loners.

Still, he pushes. “Come on, we’re connected for a reason.”

“No, we’re not” Geralt barks back with a frown. He’s on his feet in an instant, digging through his wallet and throwing down some bills on the table. He’s tall. _Oh, heavens_ he’s even taller than Jaskier, only by a little, but his broadness makes it more obvious. Jaskier barely has time to register what’s happening before the witcher is walking away from him, strides heavy, confident, and broody. Of course, he got the broody one.

He doesn’t let his soulmate’s negativity deter him, though. Jaskier throws his guitar over his shoulder and scuttles after Geralt.

\--

The cold night air should be refreshing. It should help him clear his mind but hearing the boy’s hurried footsteps and thundering heart behind him does little to calm Geralt. It had been fine, just a bit of non-committal flirting and a free beer until tattoos came into play. He hadn’t thought anything of it when Jaskier asked to see; it wasn’t the first time he’d had someone ask. He never expected to meet his ‘soulmate’ and especially not some college kid in a dive bar. If the adrenaline coming off Jaskier in tidal waves is anything to go by, he wasn’t expecting this either.

Speaking of the devil, Jaskier catches up with him, speaking much faster than before, all nerves and pent up energy. “Look, I’m not proposing to you right here and now. Hell, I’m not even asking you to hop back to my apartment for a celebratory romp- not that I would be opposed, regardless of the tattoos, but- oh, shit, you could be straight. _Gods_. I know it might be a lot. But we’re connected!”

“It’s just haphazard, faulty magic. Some people claim to see the future by sniffing cheese. Do you believe everything they say, too?” Geralt tries to reason with him- or with himself. He isn’t quite sure which one needs convincing more.

“I’m just asking to get to know you. As friends.”

“No. I don’t _do_ friends.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve spent my whole life wondering who you are. I- gods it all makes sense now. You’re a witcher. You must be quite a bit older than me. I was born with a tattoo: the little wolf. My whole life I knew I had a soulmate, and all I ever wanted was to meet you, and now you’re pushing me away?!” his voice cracks on the last word, and Geralt feels the guilt shoot straight to his gut. “Just give me a chance.”

Geralt stops in his tracks, turning to face Jaskier. The sudden movement has the man tripping over his feet to come to a halt. “I’m sorry,” Geralt says finally.

Jaskier gawks at him, confusion evident on his face.

“If I had known, I would’ve never gotten all these tattoos. I’m sorry.” He reiterates “That must have been rough.”

“Is that why you stopped getting them after I got one?” Jaskier murmurs. The way he looks at Geralt with those round eyes makes his stomach churning. It’s like he can communicate every emotion so clearly through a glance- pain, hurt, hope… Geralt nods, and the rawness of the moment is gone in an instant, replaced by Jaskier’s confident prattling once more.

“While I admit, most people don’t start seeing tattoos until they’re in high school at the earliest, I never resented them. I adore them- _really_. I suppose I’m quite fortunate. You have fantastic taste in tattoos.” He grins

That makes Geralt smile, just in the slightest, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared. “I’m not the kind of person someone like you wants to be around.”

“But I do.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“And you don’t know me. I want to change that. That’s all I’m asking.”

Geralt breathes in deeply, holding it in for a second before releasing and allowing the tension in his shoulders to subside. It's his habitual method of getting ahold of his stress, but it has the inadvertent effect of inundating him with Jaskier’s scent; he smells like flowers, a combination of some cologne and his naturally sweet smell, something Geralt wishes he didn’t notice.

What options does he really have? He’s already marked up the boy’s skin. What kind of man just walks away from that? He gets the feeling that if he did, it wouldn’t be the last he would see of Jaskier- seems like a persistent bugger. Maybe one conversation would sate his curiosity enough to drive him away.

Finally, he speaks “I have two hours, then I have to go to work. What did you have in mind?” Before Jaskier can open his mouth, he adds “Somewhere public.”

“Of course, of course- I would never threaten your honor.” Jaskier chuckles, “I know a place not too far from here that serves boozy milkshakes,” he offers.

“Fine.” 


	2. Igni and Bruxa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I planned to make this two chapters, but when I went to write the ending, it felt kinda empty? So, here’s a ridiculously domestic chapter and one obligatory monster fight scene. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left kind comments or kudos! I really appreciate all your support <3

It turns out, Geralt can run from ‘fate’ but not Jaskier. Somehow, Jaskier worms his way into his life. Forcefully. And deeply. What he expects to be shared milkshakes and parted ways turns into Jaskier following him to the warehouse, determined to set his eyes on some monsters- lucky for them, the ‘monsters’ weren’t werewolves or noonwraiths like he had expected. Nope, they were elves. Angry elves that captured Geralt and Jaskier, bashed the starving artist’s guitar and kicked them both in the gut. Geralt was able to reason with them, and Jaskier was given a lute for his troubles, but he didn’t get payment with nothing to kill.

As the sun began to rise over the city, bright lights reflecting off of the buildings, they parted ways. The younger man smiled at Geralt with sunshine in his eyes and said “I’d offer you my number, but I suppose you already have it,” which was true- even if it weren’t on his body, Geralt’s had it memorized for years. He was surprised, though, when the musician added “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime,” with a genuine warmth that told Geralt he wasn’t lying. He was sure that misadventure would have driven the boy away, but he didn’t seem deterred. If anything, he seemed more interested.

Geralt practically passed out once he got home, eager to sleep rather than focus on the situation. He was more alarmed to find the familiar number texting him once he awoke. How did Jaskier even get his number?

It didn’t seem to matter much. The next thing Geralt knows, he’s getting roped into going for coffee or drinks, then just hanging out doing things he’d never bothered spending time on before, like playing video games. Then, Jaskier starts showing up at his apartment whenever he wants. Geralt tried to argue, but Roach, his cat, loves Jaskier almost as much as she loves Geralt, which is odd considering she scratches up most strangers.

Every step of the way, he tries and tries to push back against this odd little human that seems set on getting close to him, and every battle he picks, he finds himself losing. When Jaskier starts following him to jobs, he knows he’s gone too far to turn back.

 _That_ he was not fond of, but Jaskier is the most persistent thing he’s ever met- like a weed. At first it was just local jobs, things he knew Jaskier could watch without getting in the way, but then he started following him on longer jobs. And, well it’s kind of nice to have someone to camp with, especially when he can convince the musician to stay at the camp while he hunts. He even proves to be useful once or twice. Six months later, Geralt finds himself with an intrusive friend with blurred lines and a lack of respect for personal space.

But it’s not bad, surprisingly.

Geralt finds himself smiling more. Jaskier is tactile and unafraid to show emotion in a way that’s almost frightening after so many years of being a loner. And Geralt, he puts up with it- at least that’s what he says. In reality, he does his best to keep his emotions from spilling out of ‘friends’ and toward something more.

Because he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny.

A soulmate bond is a social concept made up to explain magical connections that only go skin deep.

That’s all it is.

So, he doesn’t fall for Jaskier as if he could prove how fake Destiny is by refusing to feel.

\--

Geralt hums some song that’s been stuck in his head for days- certainly not because the dumb musician had been playing it last time they saw each other. He’s cooking dinner one late evening when he hears his apartment door handle jiggle followed by several knocks. Does he really expect it to be unlocked for him all the time?

As soon as he unlocks the door, it’s being opened by the musician on the other side. He’s a little flushed and his hair is messy as he complains “If you gave me a key, this would be easier.”

“If I gave you a key, you’d never leave me alone.” Geralt rolls his eyes. “Did you bike here in the middle of the night?” he asks, noticing the helmet in one of his hands, a duffle bag in the other, and his lute thrown over his shoulder “and what’s all this?”

“My stuff- for our trip.” Jaskier answers as if it were obvious. He throws his bag down, slips off his shoes, and begins to make himself at home. Geralt watches as Jaskier moves to the living room, stopping to pet Roach on his way. The brown tabby shoves her head into Jaskier’s palm, meowing happily to greet him. Geralt does his best not to smile at the sight.

 _Their trip._ Geralt had tried to convince him to sit this one out to no avail. It will be a week-long trip at the least- granted he can even find the beast. He got reports of a possible griffon terrorizing an isolated town a few days north of them. They’ll have to drive part way, then hike through the forests and camp there for however long it will take to find and defeat it. But Jaskier hasn’t seen a griffon yet, and he’s enamored with them- that’s probably Geralt’s fault, though.

“We don’t leave for two more days, Jaskier.” Geralt reminds him.

“It’s better to be prepared early, isn’t it?”

Geralt lets it go, turning back to his cooking. Jaskier can entertain himself if he’s so set on showing up unannounced. Though, Geralt throws an extra pork cutlet on the pan; the gods know the boy doesn’t eat enough real food.

He can hear the musician talking to Roach in the background. He’s almost surprised Jaskier hasn’t pestered him about his day yet. But, he doesn’t refrain from taking advantage of the momentary silence. With the meat on the pan, crackling and popping while it cooks, there’s nothing to do but wait. So, he pulls out his phone and scrolls mindlessly through the local news. He doesn’t care much for politics, but occasionally things will pop up that point to creatures, monsters, and jobs.

_‘Local YouTuber Dies in Attempt to Catch Kikimora’_

A dark figure can be seen in the background of what he assumes is a screen shot from the recording. “It’s an Ekimmara, you morons.” Geralt scoffs under his breath. _Typical_. Mankind has been chasing after monsters since the dawn of time. The widespread use of cameras only made things worse. He scrolls down further, and another headline pops out to him.

_‘Local Dive Bar Found to be Drug Front: Shoot Out Between Owners Leaves Renters Evicted’_

Also not terribly surprising; humans are always doing these kinds of things. Over his near century of a life, he’s seen more deaths from greed than monsters could ever cause. But, wait… he looks closer, picking up the details of the image provided. Isn’t that-

“Jaskier, what the fuck?” he barks, turning to face the man now sprawled out on his couch.

“What did I do?” he asks innocently, though the cringe he’s trying to hide tells the witcher he knows exactly what he did.

“You didn’t think to start with ‘Penellie’s had a shoot-out.’!?”

“Ah,” Jaskier starts uncomfortably. “Right- well, you know, it didn’t seem like the most important thing.” he looks down to fidget with his nails- a telltale nervous habit.

Geralt bites back his urge to press for more information “Are you okay?” He asks, finding himself out of his comfort zone.

“Of course! I’ve seen a lot worse.” Jaskier shrugs.

“Wait, were you there when it happened?”

“No, no, dear witcher. I was in my apartment. Apparently,” He starts with renewed energy, “the whole building has drugs in the walls! Those possums that were always making racket- Probably thugs shoving drug packets into our shared walls. I guess Penellie and James had a disagreement about how to split the funds. It wasn’t so much as a shoot out as shooting each other in the close confines of their office.” Jaskier makes a gun shape with his hand as he says it, pretending to shoot at Geralt. “Guess renting from your boss isn’t that good of an idea, huh?”

“Who woulda thunk.” Geralt murmurs flatly, remember the exact words ‘don’t rent from your boss’ coming out of his mouth when Jaskier moved to that dump five months ago. Of course, Jaskier was working as a bartender, and Geralt expected him to get fired and evicted in one go rather than an unknowing renter of drug lords. “They didn’t make you ID the bodies or anything, did they?” he pushes. He’s not sure why it matters to him.

“Oh, come on now. It’s very nice of you to think you have to protect my innocence, but like I said- I’ve seen worse. Specifically, I’ve seen you do much worse. You know, most people have never seen the intestines of anything much less helped dig a liver out of a cave troll or pull teeth from a foglet while brain matter is splattered around them. You’re quite lucky I’m so well adjusted.” Jaskier rambles, accentuating his words with wild gestures of his hands. Geralt ignores it, though.

“You’ve never seen me kill a human.”

“Well, you haven’t recently, right?” he says nonchalantly like he wouldn’t be bothered if the answer were yes.

Geralt shakes his head “Not supposed to, though I’m tempted often,” he grumbles, shooting Jaskier a glare. The musician sees the fondness behind it though and chuckles a little. Somehow, he seems to know Geralt’s only so exasperated because he cares- against his best efforts not to, of course.

Geralt finishes up in the kitchen and pops the caps off two beers, handing one to Jaskier along with a plate of food.

“Oh, thanks! You don’t have to, though,” Jaskier smiles, a little blush tinging his cheeks. Geralt pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Had extra,” he murmurs, shoving Jaskier’s feet off the couch so he can sit and eat as well. After a few bites of food and a long drink of beer, he finally asks “What now?”

“Well, the place across the street will probably have a drop in price,” Jaskier smirks.

“ _Seriously?_ Should live somewhere safer.”

“I would, but you know I can’t afford that… I suppose I could get a roommate” Jaskier says, biting his lip as he stares at Geralt.

The witcher grunts. He knows exactly what Jaskier is asking even without the words leaving his mouth.

“Come on, Geralt! It’d be fun!” He pesters “You live in a dump, too. Roach deserves better than this! Don’t you, Roachy?” he coos, the cat mewls at him as though she’s agreeing. _Traitor_. “We could afford something a bit nicer together. And I promise I won’t get in your way more than usual. No jam sessions late at night or early in the morning. I’ll even cook sometimes. _Please_ … Unless, you want me to find some stranger from Craigslist to live with me… But hm, isn’t that how the Craigslist killer found his victims?”

Geralt grimaces. “No- he killed a masseuse he hired through craigslist.” Is Jaskier even old enough to remember when that happened?

“Ah, I thought he asked them on dates,” Jaskier muses.

“No, you’re thinking of the Grindr- no, the Tinder killer.”

“Ah, so Grindr is a safe app to find roommates with then?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head as if it were an innocent question; he bites his fork as if he were thinking- fucker even flutters his long eyelashes. Geralt does his very best not to stare at his over obvious flirting. He knows exactly what Jaskier is doing, yet that doesn’t seem to prevent it from working.

Geralt groans, pinching the bridge of his nose “Mac n’ cheese doesn’t count as cooking. No unannounced guests, and do not touch my swords when I’m gone.”

“Really?!”

“Don’t make me regret this, Pancratz.”

“Yes! You won’t- I promise.” Jaskier beams.

A silence falls over them while they eat before Jaskier pipes up again “Wanna watch _the Monster from Brokilon_? it’s the one with the Leshen!”

“Witchers don’t even know that much about Leshens; I can only assume what kinds of inaccuracies are in this movie.”

Jaskier smirks, “You can lecture me about it afterwards.”

It has become somewhat of a past time for Jaskier to find various old and horrible horror movies to force Geralt to watch. At first, he was simply curious if there was any truth in them, but once he found Geralt ranting about their atrocious and uneducated portrayals of even the simplest beasts, he seemed determined to put the witcher through more.

For some reason Geralt puts up with it. Jaskier usually ends up talking over it half the time anyways, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy having someone to share his monster facts with. There’s something that lights up in the musician’s eyes whenever they talk about creatures and adventures; he doesn’t shy away from it like other humans.

So, he hums contentedly as Jaskier sets up the movie. When it starts, Geralt rests his arm on the back of the couch as he always does. It’s not his fault if somewhere in the night, Jaskier scoots closer and closer until he’s pressed up against the witcher. He’s just like that. And if he falls asleep, his head drooping to rest on Geralt’s shoulder, the witcher only lets him because Jaskier’s had a rough day.

\-----------

It turns out, Geralt actually doesn’t regret becoming roommates most of the time. The pair found some two-bedroom apartment on the edges of the city. The area is quieter and more peaceful than where he had been living before despite the musician and his _many_ instruments now inhabiting it- not to say Geralt doesn’t threaten to throttle him from time to time. However, the apartment is nicer than anything he’s had before, and Roach likes the extra room to run around in. They even have a patio where Jaskier started planting flowers and vegetable, and well, his apartment feels homey for once.

It didn’t take Jaskier long to find another job, part-time bar tending somewhere he can play his music. It’s a nicer place this time, and Geralt finds himself going occasionally when Jaskier is playing- just because his roommate badgers him into it, not because he _wants_ to.

Tonight is one of those nights. The atmosphere here is more modern than what he usually picks- with hanging plants everywhere and local art strung up on every surface of the walls. Jaskier fits in here well. Geralt, maybe not so much, but it’s a special occasion.

\--

“So, starving artist and suffering graduate student- how will you ever survive?” Geralt chides. Jaskier enjoys the way his golden eyes sparkle when he smirks.

He convinced the witcher to meet him at work when he got off tonight to celebrate the recent news that he had been accepted to Oxenfurt’s graduate program- hypothetically, he could become a music teacher much easier with an extra degree under his belt. He’d love to be a professor one day, though. A professor who happens to release killer albums sometimes.

“I’m not starving any more, I’ll have you know. My roommate is quite the cook,” He smiles, leaning across their little table in the corner of the bar.

Geralt simply rolls his eyes, ignoring the very generous compliment. And, well, if Jaskier was still flirting with him, he doesn’t react much, unfortunately. Even if Geralt wasn’t Jaskier’s soulmate, he is the most beautiful lovely thing Jaskier has ever had the pleasure of meeting, and there is no world he wouldn’t be head over heels for him. But the witcher is either dense or uninterested, it seems.

It’s been a year since they met, and while he certainly doesn’t mind Jaskier’s touches or flirtation, he hasn’t made one move to progress their relationship beyond ‘very best friends who are soulmates that sometimes do romantic things and might have repressed feelings for each other’. Jaskier lets his eyes brush over the witcher for a moment. He adores the way wavy loose strands of hair fall in his face. And he’s definitely not drooling, but fuck, it looks like the maroon button-up is going to burst if he flexes too hard. Poor buttons are barely holding on…. 

“Is this your big celebration plan? Drinks at your workplace? Don’t people normally do… other things?” Geralt asks, obviously confused himself.

Jaskier always enjoys seeing him try to decipher some of the more human habits he hasn’t picked up. For example- birthdays. Geralt’s 84th birthday came up recently. Jaskier only knew that because he stole the witcher’s driver’s license to check. Getting him to celebrate was a lot like pulling teeth. They ended up hanging out at the apartment, but he did eat half of the entire cake Jaskier baked for him, so that seemed like a bit of a win.

“What do you normally do to celebrate?” Geralt asks, sounding almost irritated with himself for not knowing.

“Hm,” Jaskier thinks for a second “I used to get tattoos or piercings whenever I had some life event to mark or celebrate.” or to cope with- normally coping, but there were some celebratory ones, too.

“Then do that,” he shrugs, staring down at his drink- whiskey. Jaskier could make him any drink he wants for free, and the man chose mediocre whiskey. Jaskier will never understand. He happily chose the best mead he could from the bar’s extensive and overpriced collection.

Ah, but back to the matter at hand. In truth, he doesn’t really want any more piercings. He’d tried a few, but found he only kept the ones in his earlobes. But tattoos… Jaskier stares at Geralt silently for a moment before responding “Wouldn’t you mind?”

A curious “Hm?” is all he gets.

“If I got a tattoo- I mean you’d get stuck with it too.”

They haven’t really talked about this since they met. Sure, Jaskier has thought about it. He had quite an extensive list of tattoos he wanted when he met Geralt, but something about it felt different after they became friends.

“Don’t care.”

The answer is a bit surprising, so he has to push the witcher farther. “Wonderful, because I had been pondering getting a dick tattooed on my forehead.”

Geralt snarls, though he knows it's all joking “I’ll choke the life out of you, you little shit.”

“Sounds fun,” Jaskier smirks with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.

Geralt sighs exasperatedly, but the way he avoids Jaskier’s eyes make the musician wonder if the implications behind his joke landed a little _too_ well. “Just don’t get something stupid.” 

“I can show you first?” Jaskier offers, because though it’s a lot of trust Geralt is showing him, he’d like to make sure the witcher is happy with the outcomes either way. Geralt nods in agreement, seemingly pleased with the arrangement.

There’s something about it that feels so intimate. Before, they were simply living their lives while the other had to accept the consequences on their skin. It was an act of fate. But this feels like a choice. Jaskier bites his lip, trying not to focus on the fluttering feeling that stirs up in his stomach, when it occurs to him- “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“You haven’t gotten any tattoos in a long time.” Jaskier points out, though he knows why Geralt restrained before. But now… “There must be something you want.”

“Haven’t really thought about it,” he says, but Jaskier can see the way his fingers twitch around his glass.

“Don’t lie to me, witcher. What is it?”

“I’m fine, Jask.” Geralt assures him. He smiles sweetly, which can get him a long way with the musician, but it’s not enough to placate him now.

Jaskier holds his head high, staring down the witcher. “Bullshit. No double standards. If you’re not willing to get one, I’m not either.”

“Well, hm- I don’t know.”

“I’m going to sing _Toss a Coin to your Witcher_ on repeat until you tell me.” he threatens.

Geralt watches him, evaluating, considering if the threat is real. But when Jaskier takes a deep breath to start, Geralt puts his hands out to stop him. “Wait! Wait. Fine. I’d been thinking about getting the igni sign on my middle finger before we- before I knew about you.”

“That’d be so badass!” Jaskier grins. He can just imagine how it’d look when Geralt activates the sign, fire spewing from his hands- it almost sends shivers down his spine just thinking about it.

Geralt smiles, but it’s a resigned, “Hand tattoos are too exposed. I don’t want to mess with you like that. Besides, wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re a witcher or something.”

Jaskier pouts “The only people that would recognize it would be other witchers- who could clearly tell I’m not one. And I work in a bar, Geralt. I’m not going to work anywhere that doesn’t let me show my tattoos.”

The witcher shifts as he thinks. He redirects his gaze, looking out over the bar. Gold cat eyes scan the room, flickering over each patron. He’s pretending to keep tabs on their surroundings, but Jaskier knows he’s just trying to avoid the topic.

“Which hand were you thinking?” Jaskier asks.

“Left,” he says, “Right hand is the sword hand.”

“Ah, of course.” Geralt only looks at him again when Jaskier takes his hand, brushing his thumb over Geralt’s finger right above the knuckle “Here?”

“Mhm.” The confirmation comes out as a soft rumbling from his chest- a beautiful noise, really. 

Jaskier lets his fingertips trace Geralt’s skin farther up his finger “You could put a little flame above it on the top knuckle, too, if you wanted.”

He doesn’t want to stop touching, so he pushes his luck and keeps going. Jaskier turns Geralt’s hand over, palm up, and lets himself brush over the rough callouses spattering his hand. He zeroes in on a scar across Geralt’s palm he doesn’t think he’s noticed before and caresses it with his thumb. Like this, their _almost_ holding hands. “Is this new?”

“Mhm,” Geralt hums “Wyvern.” He murmurs, his voice deeper than usual, and Jaskier can feel his cheeks heating up. Maybe it’s his imagination, but it feels like Geralt’s fingertips curl around his hand just slightly.

When he looks up, the witcher’s eyes are dark, leaving only a little sliver of gold around the rim, and Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat. Those bright eyes flicker down to his lips. He suddenly feels overly aware of how close they are like this. How easy it would be to just lean in and-

“Jaskier!” he jolts when he hears his boss call his name.

“Fuck,” he hisses “Yes, Marianne?” Of all the worst times to be interrupted... but then again, maybe he was just imagining things.

“Where did you leave the fucking register keys?”

“Ah, duty calls,” he murmurs, swiftly getting to his feet. He can hear Geralt clear his throat as he hurries to help her.

\--

Geralt does get the tattoos and Jaskier watches, absolutely transfixed as the symbols slowly begin to appear on his skin. It’s like a beautiful reminder they’re still connected, even if Geralt won’t admit it means anything. But when the little flame he suggested appears on the top segment of his finger, just like Jaskier suggested, something in his heart blooms with pride.

Jaskier gets a peacock feather, extending the sleeve Geralt had started with the archgriffon. Their various markings slot together like pieces of a puzzle now. And while the subjects of their tattoos are different, they look made for each other.

\-----------

It wasn’t supposed to be this big of a deal. They said it was a fiend prowling the base of a mountain right outside a campsite. A few people got killed, a kid got hurt, it was obvious the beast needed taking care of. However, he wasn’t sure how the rangers could be so wrong.

The fur they spotted along the paths was cougar fur dyed red with its own blood. Yes, there were trees knocked over, and scratch marks left on rocks and stumps, but none of that was the act of a fiend.

Geralt blames misinformation most of the time. If the people knew more, maybe they wouldn’t think a woodland creature sucks its victims dry of blood. But of course, every country’s leaders like to hide the gruesome truth about what lurks in the night. He doesn’t find the tracks of a fiend but something with large hands and claws- bipedal, too. _Wonderful_. Looks like a species of vampire to him.

Being unprepared like this is exactly what gets witchers killed.

Vampires are especially dangerous because one cannot always be sure of their sub-species by tracks alone. It could be a katakan, a large bat-like creature that acts on instinct alone, or even a higher vampire which can go between beast and human form at will. Higher vampires are some of the oldest and most intelligent creatures around, but many blend in with human society just fine. They don’t even need to drink blood, and many refrain. Some of the world’s best surgeons are higher vampires, actually. Not that the public knows.

At least with that much information he can drink a Black Blood potion before going further; that will make his blood poisonous to any creature that tries to take a bite of him.

If this were a higher vampire, Geralt would be in a heap of trouble. Most witchers won’t take on higher vampires at all. Something tells him it’s not though- maybe one of the sub-species in between, something more likely to prey on humans so close to civilization.

He follows the tracks for some time until he picks up on the loud and angry squawking of birds of all kinds, fluttering through the trees- a sign of a bruxa. He focuses his senses and hears the bristling of grass behind him. He draws his silver sword and freezes in place, waiting. Bruxae can make themselves invisible, and he’s sure if he turned to face them, he would be met with nothing but air.

“Why have you come, witcher,” he hears a voice hiss behind him.

Geralt stands tall, unphased by the presence “You have been killing the humans near here, have you not?”

He hears a shrill giggle- something tells him this bruxa is different than those he has met before, more sadistic, perhaps. “They came near my territory and you blame me for feasting? It’s like- oh, what do the humans call it? _Delivery food_.”

“You know you can’t kill whoever you like and not expect them to do something about it.”

“I left the kids.”

“No, the rangers drove you off before you could get the kid.” Geralt corrects, a hardness in his voice. Its difficult to deal with this kind of creature- the feeling and sentient kind that makes a decision to be malevolent toward others’ lives. They’re not so different from humans in the end.

He hears the creature huff in front of him before they finally reveal themselves. They prowl on gangly limbs, their bones jutting out as one who is starving, and long sharp fingers extend from their hands into knife sharp points. This one is unique, as it takes the form of a man rather than a woman. And while his body is uncanny, his face is beautiful with high cheekbones and smooth skin, bright eyes twinkling in the night. A mop of black shining hair frames his face, pieces falling into his eyes that feel a little too familiar. Something about it tells Geralt the decision to take this form was intentional.

They want to throw him off, as if even a slight resemblance to his musician could cause pause in beheading the beast. It’s not uncommon for some creatures to have the ability to peer into the minds of their foes. He hasn’t met a bruxa that could do so- if he has, they hadn’t made it known.

“You care about humans?” they ask, voice taking on a deeper tone now.

Geralt doesn’t answer, just watches the bruxa pace around him. His hand still holds his sword tightly, but he doesn’t move to attack yet.

The bruxa continues “They took our lands, set our forests on fire. They hunt our friends- animal and vampire. You’re no different to them than us- if they pretend to care, it’s just because they want something in return.” The bruxa tilts their head, bottom lip sticking out in the way Jaskier often does.

Geralt grits his teeth but tries not to make his distaste for the bruxa’s words obvious. They aren’t entirely wrong about most humans, yet a part of him had gotten used to their idea of a certain human seeing more in him. He pushes the thoughts away and tries to focus on the fight, not the emotional manipulation.

The bruxa smiles at him, a light chuckle escaping their lips, and Geralt watches as their teeth shift from human to very, very inhuman. It lunges at him, then, large claws swiping at the witcher.

The two fight in a flurry. The bruxa is inhumanly fast, and the witcher has to put everything into his dodges and rolls to escape the swiping of claws and gnashing of teeth. He still gets a bite here and a scrape there, but the Black Blood potion he took helps weaken the thing.

Geralt must engage all his senses at once to keep tabs on where the creature is as it darts from place to place, engaging its invisibility from time to time. His enhanced hearing alerts him to where they are, but the cawing of birds becomes louder and louder the longer they fight. Each time he swings his sword, he gives them little more than a small nick. But he knows the fight must end quickly or he will run out of stamina soon.

It seems unstoppable. The one deep cut he lands is met with the shrieking force of the bruxa’s sonic scream. It knocks him back and makes his ears ring. It must realize he’s tracking them through sound. _Fuck_. The next time the bruxa becomes invisible, he doesn’t know where they’ve gone. The ringing in his ears is overwhelming along with the caw of birds. Geralt stops full force. His eyes scan the area around him until finally, he spots a long footprint emerging in the muddy forest floor.

He watches as it darts toward him, and just as the bruxa approaches, he waves his hand casting igni. Waves of fire erupt around him, engulfing the creature. The creature catches fire, but not before one of its long claws lands across his abdomen. The pain isn’t processed at first as he’s too focused on the screeching creature- this may be his only chance. He swings his silver sword as hard as he can, and with a thump, the bruxa’s head falls to the ground.

Silence falls around him- no birds, no screaming, _nothing_. Another blast of igni ensures the creature will burn to the point of no return. He watches until he’s sure it’s dead, the horrible smell of burning flesh filling his senses.

As the adrenaline of the fight begins to ebb, he becomes aware of the sharp pain in his side and the damp, warm feeling of his blood soaking into his shirt.

The edges of his vision begin to go black. And the far too familiar feeling of unconsciousness begins to overtake him. His body moves of its own volition, Geralt only vaguely processing the sensation of his knees hitting the damp forest floor before everything goes black.

\--

After Geralt didn’t return to their camp for far too long, Jaskier could not stop himself from heading after the witcher. Geralt had given him a silver dagger not long after he began joining him on hunts. It’s a beautiful little thing with flowers engraved on the blade; Geralt said it was the only one he found at a local pawn shop, but Jaskier had wondered if he picked it out specially for him.

It gives him a little comfort as he holds it out in a death grip, trudging through the dense forest with only his phone’s flashlight to guide him. He hopes desperately he’s going in the right direction towards Geralt and not right into a fiend lair.

When he spots thick clouds of smoke rising ahead of him, he rushes toward it. Fiends don’t know how to set fires, right? Once he reaches it, he stumbles across Geralt in a small opening in the forest near the burning body of _something_. The witcher lays on his front as if he had no control when he fell to the ground, and a small pool of blood has begun to seep into the grass around him.

Jaskier rushes to his side, yelling his name, though he knows Geralt can’t hear him. He only prays that the witcher is alive as panic flares through his veins. He’s only had him for a year and a half- he can’t lose his soulmate now. When he rolls the Witcher over, he sees the large gash in his side, but he’s still breathing. Jaskier is prepared for this- a little. He’d thought about it before, anyways, so he dashes to Geralt’s bag abandoning his dagger near Geralt.

He rummages through the black pack to retrieve what he recognizes as Swallow, a healing potion. He tilts the amber vial back into Geralt’s mouth and prays his unconscious body will accept it. He does, though not without a few coughs. Well, at least he didn’t drown him.

With shaking hands, he grasps at the clasps on Geralt’s armor, throwing off the chest plate as best he can and shoving his shirt out of the way to get to the wound. Jaskier takes his own jacket off, pressing it against the wound to stop the bleeding if he can- _that might not come out in the wash_ , he thinks idly as the fabric saturates with deep red. He presses down harder when he hears a groan beneath him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasps, voice tense and pained “What the fuck?”

“Oh, thank Melitele! You’re conscious!” The potion must have helped bring him to.

Geralt grunts, appraising his surroundings with surprising clarity “Swallow.” He demands.

Later, Jaskier will be proud he beat the witcher to it, but now he can only focus on his desperate need to keep the man alive “Already got it.”

“Good.” Geralt breathes slow, deep breaths. Jaskier has seen him do this when meditating. It’s a way to get ahold of his mind and body with control the musician can never hope to have. He tries to will his pain away, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

“You need stitches,” Jaskier says, doing his best to pull his phone out with one hand, keeping the other pressed against Geralt “We should take you to a hospital or call- Uh, the park rangers?” he wonders. The general emergency line should be enough, right? They’ll redirect him. _Gods_ , he’s never done this before.

Before he can even dial one number into the phone, Geralt growls out “No. No hospitals. _Ever_.”

“What? Geralt, come on! You’re dying. We need-”

Jaskier is cut off when Geralt fucking _growls_ at him. Wonderful, he’s reverted to animalistic grunts and noises. His eyelids are fluttering, and Jaskier knows he’s fighting to stay awake. He won’t be any help. Alright, new plan. His hand dives back into the bag, rummaging around until he finds a small white tin with the words “First aid” scribbled on them with a sharpie.

He flips the pathetically small kit open, still pressing on Geralt’s wound with one hand, and fidgets around until he sees a needle and thread. That looks like it’s for sewing. “What idiot put this kit together!?” he swears. Wait, is that- “Did you _steal_ my embroidery needle for this?!” he’d been wondering where that went…

‘ _How to give stitches’_ is something he never thought he would google. There’s an alarming number of results. He clicks on one that showcases some guy stitching up a banana as an example. He scrolls through it, speed reading the best he can between the blood he’s smearing on the screen. Forget the sweater, he’ll need a new phone after this.

Jaskier breathes deeply. Geralt is completely silent by now. He’s breathing and the bleeding has slowed, but it’s still bad. Jaskier hesitantly removes his jacket to see the gash below. _Yikes_. He follows the steps best he can- he’s a bit light-headed from the sight, and Geralt’s semi-conscious whines of discomfort make his heart clench, but he somehow manages to get the witcher stitched up. The bleeding drastically slows after that. It seems to give his body a chance to thread itself back together.

Jaskier leans back on his knees once it’s finished, sucking in deep breathes of cool air as he tries to calm his thundering heart. Geralt’s breath is still labored, but evening out more as well. With his enhanced healing, he’ll probably need to take the stitches out in a day or two, but it’ll help for now.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that until Geralt’s eyes finally open, meeting Jaskier’s. Something in the way he feels seems to shift, and he opens his mouth to speak, his voice almost steady again. Jaskier isn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t “ _Fucking bruxa_.”

Jaskier lets himself laugh at last, a wave of relief coming over him. Geralt chuckles too, though he can see the witcher wince when his abs tighten too hard.

“Careful now,” Jaskier murmurs. He does his best to wipe the blood off his hands and reaches up to cup Geralt’s face gently. The witcher leans into his touch, but that might just be from blood loss. “I really thought you were dead when I saw you lying there.”

Geralt huffs. He reaches up to loosely wrap his hand around Jaskier’s forearm “Sorry.”

Something tells him that Geralt’s saying sorry for exposing Jaskier to this not for almost dying. He tries to brush it off. Geralt doesn’t exactly baby him, but he constantly underestimates the musician’s ability to handle the darker sides of the witcher’s life.

“Promise me you won’t scare me like that again,” Jaskier breathes, his hand still firmly pressed against Geralt’s cheek.

“Jask, I'm a witcher. You realize that, right? We don’t retire; we get slow and die. This is just how it is.” He groans as he moves to sit up, despite his need to rest.

Jaskier pouts, but he’s frustrated too. “You’re such a defeatist,” he sighs. But that’s an argument for another time. “Guess I’ll have to get better at this.”

“You don’t have to, you know,”

“What?”

Geralt’s eyes are sad when he speaks, and he doesn’t realize it, but he’s only further proving Jaskier’s statement about being a defeatist. “You don’t have to do this just because you think I'm your soulmate.”

There’s no spite in the way he says it, though the words certainly aren’t kind. And they _hurt_. Jaskier glares at him viciously- the first truly rightful glare he may have ever given Geralt. It seems to surprise the witcher, as Jaskier notices his brows scrunch together even tighter.

“Quit your griping for five minutes. I don’t care what you say- I care for you, Geralt. Regardless of the tattoos or soulmates or fate or- or anything, you stupid oaf. Get over it!” Jaskier explodes. He should be gentler. He knows the self-loathing Geralt harbors, but the comment cuts- deep. Jaskier has done nothing but love Geralt since they met, and yet the witcher has the audacity to call it _fake_. “Heavens forbid someone want you to live, much less be _happy_ \- must be some trick of delusion. Ohh, scary face, witchers are emotionless.” he mocks, waving his hands in the air. “You’re so full of shit, I’m surprised your eyes aren’t brown.” He barks.

Sitting motionless, Geralt stares at him with wide eyes, stunned into silence. He looks frozen in a way Jaskier has never seen before. Truthfully, he’s surprised his rant hasn’t gotten him shoved away or told to fuck off. So, he keeps pushing his luck.

“Now, I’m going to hug you because _you matter to me_ , and I don’t want to hear any complaints. Let someone take care of you for once.” He asserts as confidently as he can.

When the witcher doesn’t protest, he scoots closer, reaching up to wrap his arms around Geralt’s neck. The witcher surprisingly cooperates, allowing his head to lean down to rest against Jaskier’s shoulder. He’s careful not to put pressure on Geralt’s wound, though he very much wishes he could climb into his lap and be completely surrounded by him. However, the way the witcher slowly wraps his arms around Jaskier to return the embrace is more than enough. 

Geralt is silent for some time. Little by little, his muscles relax and he lets Jaskier support more of his weight. Geralt presses his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, nuzzling closer. He breathes, quiet and timid, “ _You matter to me too._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up the part about bruxa being able to see into the minds of the people they fight and adjust their appearance accordingly. They can’t do that in canon, but they’re supposed to be alluring, and mind reading is in a lot of vampire lore. Besides, this is fanfiction, soooo…
> 
> There’s subtle timeline hints in this, but each event happens six months apart from each other. By the end of this, they’ve known each other for about a year and a half.


	3. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone so much for the enthusiastic responses, comments, and kudos. Sorry this took me awhile to get to. I have a lot of stuff with work and school right now, but hopefully the last chapter will be up soon!
> 
> Also! Shout out to my friend and beta reader for this chapter @TinyThoughts ❤️ Make sure to check out their work here on ao3

For almost two years, everything was fine.

_ Was. _

Things changed after the Bruxa. Nothing big or monumental, but little shifts in their relationship led to a type of intimacy Geralt wasn’t accustomed to- he wasn’t used to someone looking out for him or letting them look out for him for that matter. 

If only he could’ve trusted what he was feeling- what Jaskier seemed to feel for him. It was just magic, he told himself, who would care so deeply for a witcher? And how could a witcher develop such _feelings_ for a human, as fragile as they are?

Now, Geralt is standing in some sorceress’ home as Jaskier is nearly dying, and everything is his fault.

_ ******* _

Jaskier wasn’t supposed to be there. On the edge of some murky river in fuck-all nowhere of Velen, he cast his net not in search of fish but rather, a Djinn. Above him, birds chirp and golden rays of sunlight stream through the green canopy of the forest. It could be peaceful if he weren’t here for a reason.

But Geralt was a fool- he forgot Jaskier was ‘on loan’, working outside of the city for the week to cover at his boss’ other bar which also happened to be in Velen.

So, of course, after a long while of nothingness, he heard clumsy steps trudging through the woods followed by the familiar scent of Jaskier’s cologne. The other man approaches him, a little wobbly with alcohol on his breath, throwing an arm over Geralt’s shoulder “Geralt! Funny seeing you here,” he grins.

“Sampling the drinks at work again, I see,” Geralt frowns, shrugging off Jaskier’s arm. “How did you find me?”

The human simply smiles, shaking his phone gently in his hand “Find My Friends.”

“What?”

“It’s an app. We have a family plan, Geralt, so I can always see where you’re at if you’re on a job by yourself,” he explains, only earning a blank stare from his much less tech-savvy friend. “Whatever. The shiny screen told me you were nearby when I got off work. I figured I would come find you to brighten your day.”

If Geralt were in a better mood- if he were in his right mind, he would’ve smiled. He would’ve accepted the embrace and decided to go home. But he’s not. So, he doesn’t reply and throws his net out again, hoping this would be the one to catch the elusive Djinn.

“Are we having fish tonight? This is an awful long way to come for fish, Geralt. Or did you just miss me?”

“I’m looking for a Djinn.”

Jaskier frowns, trying to push in front of Geralt to interrupt his search “Are you mad? You’re a witcher. Shouldn’t you know not to play with genies and spirits and such?”

“Just let me work, Jask,” it’s not quite rude yet, but it’s a warning- one that Jaskier doesn’t understand.

He puts his hands on his hips and puffs his chest out “No. Tell me what’s going on. You’re acting all squirrely lately.”

“I can’t fucking sleep,” he hisses at Jaskier- he doesn’t yell, but there’s far more venom than necessary. Yet, that was only partially the truth. It was his thoughts that were the problem keeping him up at night, haunting him, driving him here.

Jaskier, somehow, seems to find that amusing, “Oh, come on now. You can always share my bed- I’ll even sing you a lullaby,” he chides, smirking that horribly dashing way he does when he’s trying to flirt. And normally Geralt would snort or roll his eyes, but the more Jaskier flirts, the more he feels like his heart is being toyed with and empty words with half true emotions are being thrown his way.

“Just- can you stop for five minutes?!” Geralt snaps, stunning the musician into silence. He looks away from Jaskier, letting his eyes scan the calm waters in front of him, desperately willing the waves of emotions crashing over him to still themselves.

He’s ashamed to even think of it in Jaskier’s presence, but he had rather been hoping the Djinn could break his soulmate bond to Jaskier.

The  _ things _ he had been feeling as of late keep him up deep into the night as he wrestles with his own attachment to Jaskier and the truth he knows: a human is unwillingly bounded to him, a witcher. During their time together, he’s watched Jaskier carefully. He sees how everyone looks at him; they are drawn to him like moths to a flame. They bask in his bright light and yearn for him. He effortlessly accumulates friends everywhere he goes, as if all that he touches turns to gold.

And yet, he’s never able to live the life most humans desire- the one likely best suited for him. Because of Geralt.

He had thought the bond was powerless, but doubts began to invade his mind. How much of Jaskier’s commitment to him was just the affects of magic? How much was true?

Geralt was never going to tell Jaskier; he couldn’t face causing him pain by directly driving him away. Rather, the witcher planned to wish the bond out of existence. Then, he would sit back and watch- watch as the distance between them grew, no longer kindled by magic- watch as Jaskier started drifting toward his own kind- watch him begin to date again like someone his age should, fall in love like someone with his heart should, and leave Geralt, like any human in their right mind would.

It's because he cares for Jaskier- it’s what he deserves: to be happy. But it hurts to think that when looking at the man he would be wishing away, so instead, he tries to push him away, moving to a different spot on the shore. It doesn’t stop Jaskier from following him, though.

“You should go.” He says, hoping the musician will leave him to work.

“I’m not leaving! You could need defending from this horrible beast!”

“That  _ beast _ can hear you and is probably smarter than you.”

“Rude,” Jaskier says, putting his hands on his hips defensively, “At least I’m pretty, right Geralt?”

He’s right. He is pretty. And handsome. And smart. But Geralt can’t say any of that, so it just grates on his nerves. “You’re pretty fucking annoying,” he says.

And they know it’s a joke, but Jaskier still bristles, overly dramatic and defensive as ever. “Take that back you uncouth bastard!”

The edges of Geralt’s mouth twitches in the hint of a smile, but he does his best to push the feelings down, focus on what he has to do. He tugs at the net, pulling it in. This time, it feels different. There’s something that snags at the bottom of the river, an added weight to it he can feel.

That should have been his cue to rush to the net.

He should have realized. But he didn’t.

And the second the net reaches dry ground, Jaskier has jumped in front of Geralt to recover the contents of the net. It only takes what feels like a second of fighting over the vase, a few yelled insults, and demands from Jaskier to be called pretty before the musician is shouting wishes into the air.

“I wish Valdo Marx would die a slow and painful death of the plague!”

“Stop!” Geralt yells.

“And secondly,” he announces “I wish- I wish…” Jaskier trails off, quiet suddenly. He looks to Geralt, a thick sadness in his puppy-dog eyes. Jaskier’s eyes find the floor of the forest, and Geralt uses the lull to attempt to take the vase back.

“Jaskier, stop.” He tries again.

Jaskier’s sadness disappears, replaced with irritation. “Oh, sorry. What is it you wanted so badly again? Maybe if you didn’t insult me, I wouldn’t need two whole wishes to myself.”

Of course, he can’t tell Jaskier what his wish would be. It wouldn’t be a problem if Jaskier had’ve just stayed out of this! He always has to butt in!  _ “I just wanted some peace and quiet.” _

Not peace of being alone, but the peace of being free from his guilt- of knowing Jaskier could be happy and normal again if it weren’t for Geralt.

_ But that isn’t what he says. _

_ ******* _

The next thing he knows, Jaskier is gasping for breath, bleeding on the ground as terror fills his eyes. Two stops and several red lights run later, and now Geralt is standing in the home of a vicious and very untrustworthy sorceress, his  _ soulmate _ choking on his own blood.

He will survive, she said as she cast him into a healing sleep, but if he never sings again, Geralt will never forgive himself. He thought he knew best for both of them- something he’s second guessing.

“Just a friend, I hope,” the mysterious woman had purred when he first approached, and he truthfully didn’t know how to answer that because while on any normal day, he would call Jaskier his friend, but he never considered him ‘just’ a friend.

So, when he squirmed under her gaze and drew back from her obvious flirtations, she smiled all too knowingly.

Yennifer is beautiful, undoubtedly. And once, he may have jumped at the chance to lay with a woman like her, but there is something in the way she eyes him like an exotic oddity to examine, to amuse- like everyone else does. But not Jaskier. Once, it wouldn’t have phased him, but now, somehow he’s come to expect-  _ hope _ for better.

_ Now _ , all he feels is the gnawing feeling of regret and guilt in his stomach with a healthy dose of anxiety over Jaskier’s fate. He looks so peaceful, deep under the magical sleep induced over him even though there is still blood splattered on his shirt. Geralt sits at the bedside and watches, as if there were anything he could do to help the process.

He hears the sorceress’ loud sigh but doesn’t turn to look at her “I told you, it will be a few days. Do you really plan to sit there the whole time?”

“Hm,” a passive grunt is all he can give.

“You ought to at least eat. Fetch something from the kitchen for yourself.” Though the words are thoughtful, in theory, her voice is anything but soft- almost irritated and impatient. When he hesitates, she speaks again. “Don’t trust me with your boy toy? I am the one helping you, after all.”

He pointedly ignores the offer “My payment- what will it be?” whatever the cost, he had said. He should’ve known better and at least tried to haggle, but he really would do anything. Jaskier is going to kill them if both their savings and a handful of favors goes down the drain because he had to meddle with a Djinn, though.

Yennefer smiles mischievously, walking closer to him. “Fine company is enough for me,” she purrs.

Geralt is tired and more on edge than usual. He snaps at her without thinking “I am not company for your taking.”

There are better ways to let down a woman, he should know that. And yet, he couldn’t stop his irritation from boiling over- it seems to be the theme of the day. If her expression of irritated dejection is anything to go by, he may have made a mistake, but she chuckles as if she’s toying with him. 

“And whose are you?” she asks. He only stiffens at the question, making her laugh more, “Go eat, witcher. I will not serve you further than I have.”

Geralt sighs reluctantly, but she has a point. Besides, Jaskier always says he was a bitch when he’s hangry. So, the witcher drags himself out of the room to seek out food. He keeps his senses on alert, listening carefully to any suspicious noises coming from the room.

How he missed the sound of the door locking is beyond him. However, when he returns, pulling at the handle to take his spot next to Jaskier again, the door doesn’t budge.

Geralt sighs heavily, “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he groans before waving his hand, using Aard to shoot a blast of energy toward the door. The door flies open with a heavy thud, likely leaving a handle shaped hole in the wall as it does. The old wood never stood a chance; if the witch wanted to keep him out, she should have used magic to seal it.

“You could have knocked,” Yennefer frowns when Geralt steps inside. She sits in front of her vanity, brushing her hair leisurely. He knows better than to accept her nonchalance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” his eyes land on the changes in the room: a pentagram on the floor, candles surrounding it- black magic. His eyebrows furrow together before he notices the Djinn’s seal resting on her desk. “The Djinn. You want to enslave it.”

Yennefer bristles at his choice of words “I just need a favor. Then, I will release it.”

“Are you seriously fucking trying this right now?” he growls, “Do you not realize how dangerous Djinns are?”

“And?”

“I won’t let you risk Jaskier’s life for whatever power lust you have,” he spits. 

“Look, witcher. All the man has to do is wish his final wish. I will deal with the rest myself.” The sorceress remains surprisingly calm as she applies perfume to her wrists. The scent of lilac and gooseberries fills his senses as she approaches. She flutters her eyelashes and smiles sweetly. “I believe you owe me payment for this, after all. How hard can it be to agree to that? Maybe run some errands for me while you’re at it?” He can feel something- like tugging at the back of his mind, but nothing happens.

“Fuck off.” He growls.

Yennefer steps back, her face falling in a dejected frown “I see you aren’t quite as swayable as I once had believed. Funny, normally the dull ones are so  _ easy _ . I suppose you really are someone else’s.” 

Geralt snarls, done with her games. He’s teetering between yelling and dragging Jaskier away from her, no matter the force required, when they hear rustling where Jaskier lays in bed. Geralt rushes to the side of the bed, his heart jumping at the thought of Jaskier recovering. He’ll deal with the witch later. However, Jaskier is not awake. He’s tossing and turning in unrest, wincing and making small noises of discomfort in his sleep.

“What’s happening?” Geralt barks at Yennefer.

She approaches, genuine concern flickering in her eyes for a moment. Her hands hover over Jaskier, hoping a spell will illuminate the situation. “The Djinn’s magic is trying to leave him, but something is wrong.”

“What? What’s wrong?” He nearly yells, turning angry with desperation.

“I don’t know,” she says, but he doesn’t believe her.

He’s had enough of her deception. Sorceresses like her only take and take, never caring about the destruction they cause others. With each moment, Jaskier’s suffering seems to get worse, and Geralt can’t stop himself from yelling. “ _ I just want you to stop lying to me, stop trying to use me for five fucking minutes, and tell me what’s wrong with him!” _

“The Djinn’s magic is feeding off of his soulmate bond, using the magic to intensify or solidify its effect,” as soon as the words leave Yennefer’s mouth, her violet eyes go wide. “I wasn’t lying to you! I didn’t know until… somehow it came to me.”

“Bullshit,” Geralt hisses. “You can’t tell me you haven’t been lying to me.”

“No, I most definitely have. I tried to put you under my spell, even, but something stopped me.” She gasps, clasping her hand over her mouth. She looks at him with both scorn and horror in her eyes. “ _ You _ . You have the Djinn.”

Geralt swallows, feeling a lump growing in his throat. This was his fault. Directly. He told Jaskier he wanted some peace and quiet, and the Djinn attacked him to grant that wish. He can’t even blame Jaskier for getting in the way anymore; this is his doing. Every part of it. He feels sick with the thought, all his anger leaving him to be replaced with a type of misery be suited for wallowing.

He tries to slow his breathing, looking down at Jaskeir- taking in the damage he’s done. He reaches out, taking Jaskier’s hand in his. He’s cold, and it doesn’t stop his struggling, but Geralt feels like he has to touch him, can’t stand being far away from him anymore. As he looks down at their hands, his eyes focus on the Igni sign on his finger, the tattoo Jaskier told him to get. Something in his heart clenches tighter, thinking about how they had settled into their bond over the years.

Finally, he turns to see Yennefer watching him carefully. “What must we do?”

“I can try to separate the Djinn’s magic from his bond, but it might damage the bond  _ if _ it works.” She pauses “If he knows his soulmate, I would prefer to contact them first. I’d rather not be sent to jail for tampering with a soulmate’s bond.”

“It’ll be fine. just do it.” Geralt barks out.

“Right, do you have any other orders you would like me to follow? Shall I get you a cheese platter while I’m at it? Maybe do your laundry?” she glares over her shoulder. “It isn’t your life at risk here.”

“It is,” he hisses.

Something seems to shift in Yennefer’s gaze as she appraises him. Geralt bristles under her gaze. He really is in no position to be so demanding. He releases Jaskier’s hand, stepping back for Yennefer to work. The sorceress looks over Jaskier, taking both of his hands in hers. When she does, she must notice the matching tattoo on his finger. She glances at Geralt, voice softer than it ever has been yet, “it’s you, isn’t it?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything, but his lack of denial is enough to show her the truth.

“That simplifies things. You can wish it away,”

“The Djinn’s magic?” Geralt asks with a tilt of his head, willing himself to speak as little as possible lest risk another wish go wrong.

“No- it doesn’t work like that. One wish cannot cancel another.” Yennefer says flatly. “His soulmate bond, you must sever it.”

Geralt winces. This is what he wanted. Wasn’t it? Yet, now that he has to do it, it doesn’t feel like a triumph. It feels like giving up the only thing he has- the only guarantee Jaskier will stay with him. But he never deserved Jaskier in the first place. So, he nods and opens his mouth to speak “I-”

“Stop!” she fusses “You must choose your words very carefully. The wrong terms and either of you may end up dead or nonexistent.”

Geralt glares at her, silently communicating his irritation.

“Just be careful.” She reiterates, like he didn’t learn that from his first mistake.

He thinks for a moment, nodding his head as he chooses his words carefully. “ _ I wish to cut the magical bond which ties our souls together with no harm to either of us _ ,” though logically, he knows this is the solution, he doesn’t feel like he actually means it. Geralt doesn’t know what he expected, but nothing happens. There’s no sudden shift in his emotions or wind blowing through the room or sparks of fire. Just silence. In front of him, Jaskier’s tossing and turning begins to subside as Yennefer’s healing magic takes hold without the soul bond to keep the Djinn’s curse in place. At least that offers some relief.

Geralt feels Yennefer’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, no longer flirtatious, but a gentle comforting touch. “Well, at least you’ve already found each other- I am sorry, though.”

He shakes off the frown he hadn’t realized he was making and turns to her, “Doesn’t matter. Besides, I don’t believe in fate.”

“you seem like you’re a lot of fun at parties,” she scoffs dryly before leaving him alone with Jaskier once more. In a few minutes, the sorceress will realize Geralt’s second wish caused her to let the Djinn go. She will certainly charge him for her help after that. But for now, he’s left to ruminate on what he’s done.

\--

Geralt sits and watches as every mark shared between them retreats, only remaining on the one who originally got it. And with each disappearing tattoo, a piece of his heart is torn away. Seeing the wolf with the buttercups disappear from his arm brings up a feeling he didn’t know he was capable of. Worse yet is knowing this is his fault, and Jaskier will surely hate him for it.

He didn’t know this would happen, thought he wouldn’t have to tell Jaskier the bond had been severed. But now there’s no way out. He wants to run and hide in his shame. Even so, Geralt doesn’t leave Jaskier’s side. After all this, instead of pushing his friend away, he’s only pushed himself to realize the extent of his feelings for Jaskier, and just how much he doesn’t want to lose him.

Finally, once it’s all done, Jaskier’s eyes begin to flutter open. He groans, groggy and confused, blinking slowly as he looks around the unfamiliar room. When his eyes land on Geralt, he smiles. At first, anyways. The smile quickly turns to worry as he takes in the witcher’s expression. Jaskier reaches out to him, but of course it has to be with his left hand. Geralt had hoped he would get at least a few minutes to explain before Jaskier noticed.

But his eyes seem to focus on his own fingers where his tattoo should be, eyebrows knitting together with concern. “Ger- where’s my tattoo?”

When he gazes up at Geralt, the look of betrayal on Jaskier’s face makes his gut twist. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“What do you mean?” Jaskier asks, panic overwhelming his voice. He tries to sit up, grasps at Geralt’s jacket, shoving it off and running his hands over where his tattoos should be- of course, only Geralt’s contributions remain. He grabs Geralt’s hand, already desperate for comfort it seems. “What happened?! Why- why are they gone?!”

Geralt tries to breathe calmly. He doesn’t dare look Jaskier in his eyes. He can already smell salt in the air “You didn’t have the wishes.  _ I did _ .” Jaskier looks at him in horror, and it faintly registers to Geralt that Jaskier must think Geralt did this on purpose. He hurries to clarify. “ _ Fuck _ , I just wished for peace, but I was frustrated with you. The Djinn attacked you. I brought you to a sorceress. She said it was- the magic was bound to our connection. The only way to save you was to sever it.”

He watches and waits for Jaskier to respond. He expects anger or disgust, but all he finds is sadness. Jaskier squeezes his hand tighter but looks away from the witcher. Geralt lets him have a moment, lets him sniffle quietly and rub the wetness from his face before Geralt speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

—

“You owe me one, Witcher.” Yennefer smiled as he left with Jaskier. He couldn’t offer her a smile in return, but he agreed nonetheless. He won’t do anything stupid, but if she prefers a favor over monetary gain, he’s sure they can arrange something. He hopes, anyways. And not something with another Djinn.

The car ride home is painfully silent, even by Geralt’s standards. The radio plays in the background, but nothing registers in his mind. Jaskier doesn’t say a thing, eyes glued outside of the window. He’s sad, but that’s all Geralt can parse from it all; he’s never been good at reading people’s emotions- their lies and secrets, how their conscious weighs them down, their trustworthiness, sure. All of that is easy to tell when you’ve been dealing with humans as long as he has. But feelings? Jaskier is the first human to really share those with him. Geralt thought he’d gotten good at reading Jaskier, but now he can’t tell if Jaskier would rather lock himself in his room with a sad song for a week or jump out of the moving car.

Geralt tries to push his thoughts down, but that only makes them worse. Instead, he finds himself reciting pieces of his bestiary, random facts and details about the monsters he hunts, just to fill the space in his mind with something other than doubt and regret.

\---

Geralt turns on a tv show they’ve seen a million times once they get home. Jaskier flops down next to him on the couch but keeps more space between them than he normally would- hell, normally he would curl up against Geralt’s side and pretend, just for a while, they were a real couple. Now, the thought makes him want to cry. What if Geralt doesn’t want him around anymore? What if this whole thing was out of guilt?

Against his better judgement, he glances down at his arms. He gapes at the open spots, the gaps in what had been their sleeve where their tattoos fit together like pieces of a puzzle. “My tattoos look stupid like this,” he muses.

Geralt snorts, but there isn’t the usual brightness in his eyes “Mine too.”

“I guess you must be relieved” Jaskier says after a long pause.

Geralt only glances at him, his eyebrows raising. “Hm?”

Jaskier licks his lips, trying to speak casually as if fear of the witcher’s answer didn’t weigh on him, slowly crushing his heart “I know you always hated having this… connection between us.”

Geralt looks away, eyes glued to the tv, and Jaskier thinks he’s pushed too far. But he finally speaks again, softer than usual “That’s not true, Jaskier.”

“Geralt, be honest with me. Do you feel different?” Jaskier’s bottom lip trembles slightly as he speaks, but thankfully, the witcher doesn’t see.

He finally looks back at Jaskier, a silent sigh escaping his lips “No.”

“Me neither.”

\--

Geralt turns it over and over in his mind. He feels the same. If anything, the harrowing experience has made him care for the musician even more. Seeing him in pain made him want to pull Jaskier into his arms and keep him there until every doubt or discomfort was gone. And the second the tattoos began to fade, he wished desperately to get them back. He knows it’s foolish, but he even tried making another wish while Yennefer was in the other room and Jaskier was still sleeping, though he knew the Djinn was long gone.

He had expected Jaskier to feel differently. Fate is bullshit, of course- but Jaskier had spent his life looking for a soulmate. Part of Geralt had always wondered if some of that romanticism had been the only reason he stuck around so long.

He sits in his bed, fiddling with the medallion around his neck after taking a quick shower. His eyes drift down to his wrist and linger on the blank spot. He feels a pang in his heart at the emptiness of it. He’d never said it out loud, but he realized after meeting Jaskier that the flowers surrounding the wolf were buttercups- the musician’s namesake. It was a perfect reflection of them. And now it’s  _ gone _ .

The creaking of his bedroom door alerts him to Jaskier’s presence, the other man slipping through the doorway sheepishly. Jaskier doesn’t say a word as he enters, but Geralt can see the little frown he tries to fight when he sees Geralt is shirtless, all the blank skin exposed. Quietly, Jaskier climbs onto the bed, leaning against the headboard next to him. He glances over but doesn’t say a word. Close like this, Geralt can see the stubble that grew out while he was healing. It doesn’t do much to make him look older, but Geralt had always liked it when the musician waited a day or two to shave. Now, he feels like he shouldn’t think about Jaskier’s looks, though.

“Well? Spit it out,” Geralt finally says when the musician doesn’t speak up.

“Are you sure you don’t feel differently about me?”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m not annoying or burdensome? You don’t feel the urge to eject me from your life?” he pushes.

Geralt grimaces “Just your normal amount of annoying, and no. I figured out a long time ago you don’t have an eject button.” He watches Jaskier’s reaction carefully. Worried brows begin to relax but only minutely. He tries to stop himself, but he has to ask “You?”

“No- no, that’s just it-” Jaskier bites his lip before finally looking at Geralt. His big blue eyes feel like they’re boring into Geralt’s soul, searching for something. Whatever it is, it seems he found it because the musician smiles and finally talks “I’ve been thinking about all this, you know.”

Geralt’s breath hitches just slightly as he braces himself for the inevitable. What comes next? A million scenarios play out in his head, but he’s almost sure Jaskier is going to say he’s going to move on with his life and find someone better. All the witcher can choke out is a strained “hm”.

“Maybe you were right, fate is all bullshit and superstition,” he says, bright eyes glancing back at Geralt, who only nods “But that just means this- what’s between us, it was never about fate. I mean, if fate exists, maybe it just works to push us toward each other in the first place, and the rest is up to us- it directs us to the perfect time and place to meet like two ships passing in the night. Like-”

“Jaskier.” Geralt says before he can go into reciting poetry or something.

“Ah, right” Jaskier catches himself “What I mean is- fate might be bullshit, but this isn’t. And I don’t want to go any longer pretending I should hide what I feel because of it.”

Geralt looks at him with wide eyes. His mind vaguely processes what he’s saying, but Geralt can’t let himself believe it’s happening until he hears it.

“Because I love you, Geralt. I really, really do. And maybe you’ll believe me now. Maybe… well, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same. I just wanted you to know that I do- by choice. And I always will.” Jaskier offers him a smile, small and gentle, but it’s still so bright. He’s always so bright.

Geralt looks for words for so long that the musician’s eyes fall to his hands as he fidgets with his nails. He begins to push away as if he were about to leave. “Okay, well, that was all-” he begins.

“ _ Jaskier _ ,” Geralt reaches for him, tugging Jaskier toward him. Jaskier is compliant enough, watching Geralt with curiosity. The witcher breathes one last sigh to calm his nerves and leans forward, bridging the gap between them to kiss him. Jaskier is stunned for only a second, kissing back enthusiastically before long.

And it’s the most  _ right _ thing Geralt has ever felt in his life. He’s kissed many people over his years, but none have been like this- none have ever made him feel so comfortable and complete. He feels safe yet filled with a passion he didn’t know he was capable of.

They’re a mess of lips and teeth, blindly grabbing at each other yet unwilling to break their kiss. Somehow, Jaskier makes his way onto Geralt’s lap, eagerly touching every part of Geralt’s exposed skin he can get his hands on. His fingers trace scars without looking as if he had memorized their shapes and placements long ago.

“I’ve wanted to do this since we met” Jaskier breathes heavily against his lips.

Geralt smirks, letting his hands roam under the oversized T-shirt Jaskier’s wearing- wolves howling at a moon decorate the front of it, and Geralt smiles with the realization that even if his marks on Jaskier’s skin have disappeared, they’ve left marks all over every part of each other’s lives. Geralt’s fingers trace the toned lines of Jaskier’s stomach “Me too.”

The musician pulls back to look at him, a mixture of disbelief and pleasure on his face, “Really?”

Geralt nods but finds himself getting impatient with just talking. He pulls Jaskier closer, kissing him again, savoring the sounds his musician makes. He takes it slower, moving down to his neck to kiss, and nip, and leave his mark there to make up for the missing tattoos.

“You’re so stupid,” Jaskier giggles.

“Maybe”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Geralt whispers, truly for the first time in his life. And the words feel weird in his mouth, and foreign when he hears them spoken by his voice, but it’s true, and Jaskier deserves to hear it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got too attached to this fic and decided to add a sort of "epilogue" chapter. I just want fluff and happy Geralt and Jaskier. :)


	4. Epilogue - Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back with an epilogue (sorta?)!!! Thank you for everyone's patience. It's been a chaotic summer, but I am happy to finally have finished this fic.
> 
> Big shout out to [KHansen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHansen/pseuds/KHansen) who came up with the kurczaki creatures in this chapter for me. Do go check out her stuff! She’s a very talented writer : )

Two blissful years have passed since the Djinn incident- that’s not to say there haven’t been some bumps in the road, but that’s all part of relationships, Geralt has learned. They’re growing opportunities, Jaskier had to explain after their first big fight -which admittedly was not that big- as he assured Geralt he wouldn’t leave him. Even two years in, there’s still novelty in that. It’s something that Geralt has to remind himself often.

It helped calm that fear a bit when they got tattoos again- the previous ones never came back, but to both their disappointment. Instead, they got most of them redone, some as exact copies, some as complimentary. Jaskier gets a different species of arch-griffin than Geralt’s, one that Geralt picks out for him. It’s a nice touch, really. Geralt gets the songbird on his arm redone with a different color pallet to blend with his griffin more. He doesn’t bother getting the music notes redone, and Jaskier doesn’t get his Igni sign, but the rest are perfect duplicates- that was particularly important to him with the wolf with the buttercups.

_Yet, still, the leftover wounds of a witcher’s childhood persistently tell him its only a matter of time before he’s alone again._

\---

It’s another day, another date, another cup of coffee. Jaskier and Geralt stand in line at one of the many local coffee shops. The fragrant smell of espresso is strong in the air around them, the room bustling with patrons as they sip their drinks, hold meetings, and visit with friends. A soft, acoustic tune plays from the speakers overhead, and sunlight streams through the large windows on the front of the building.

Geralt is mentally checking his to-do list for the week when Jaskier slips under his arm, the younger man pressing up against his side. He tries not to, but Geralt tenses slightly. The warmth and affection are normally more than welcome, but he can feel the eyes of the baristas and patrons on him, curious, prying gazes, likely questioning what kind of human would be so brazen as to touch a witcher.

Jaskier noses at Geralt’s jaw, watching him closely as he does so- it’s like a test to see how long he can get away with it before Geralt’s discomfort makes itself known. He hates the disappointed look on his lover’s face whenever that happens, but it can’t be helped sometimes.

Thankfully, Geralt is saved when the woman in front of them finishes ordering, dawning their turn. The barista is a young woman, probably one of the college kids that come and go around here. She smiles brightly, greeting them as they approach, Jaskier clutching Geralt’s hand tightly.

“The usual, my love?” Jaskier asks with a smile, Geralt simply nodding in response. “A dark chocolate mocha and black coffee please, no room for cream.”

The woman writes down their orders, smirking to herself. “Wow, you know each other’s orders. How sweet!” Her eyes trail over their exposed arms, “Are you soulmates?”

“We are, actually! It’s quite a funny story-” Jaskier begins.

Geralt rolls his eyes, eager to be done with this interaction as quickly as possible, “I’m sure she doesn’t have time to hear the whole story.” The whole story which Geralt not only lived but has heard far too many times. Jaskier has even written a few songs and poems about it.

“Well whether you are or not, that’s adorable.” She smiles sweetly. Geralt nods as he pulls Jaskier away to wait for their drinks by the counter.

He can tell immediately that isn’t the last he’ll hear of it, just based on the musician’s pout. “Whether we are or not?! I just said we’re soulmates. Why would she say that?” Jaskier fusses once they’re out of ear shot.

“Babe, it doesn’t matter” he says as soothingly as he can, though, he knows it matters to Jaskier. Technically, their connection has been severed; they’re not really soulmates anymore.

“But-” he protests.

“She said you’re adorable, don’t you like attention?” Geralt teases, squeezing Jaskier’s hand.

His bottom lip still sticks out like he’s a dejected child. Geralt sighs, but the faintest smile tugs at his lips as he leans in for a chaste kiss. It’s important to Jaskier, and Geralt still feels bad for causing their bond to be severed. Yet, he’s thankful for it, too, because he’s not sure he would have trusted his heart without knowing that destiny could not manufacture their love.

Jaskier lights up even from the small amount of affection. “I know you’re uncomfortable, but thanks for trying.”

“Hm”

“It must be horribly embarrassing having a boyfriend as adorable as me.” He chides, giving Geralt big, puppy eyes full of feigned innocence.

The witcher huffs in amusement, “You are embarrassing, but that’s not it.” 

“I know, I know, darling. Your just not used to PDA.”

“ _PDA_ was not as socially acceptable when I was your age-” which is the truth. But it’s not the whole truth, and Jaskier knows as much. The man stares at him defiantly until Geralt adds, “Never been with someone who _wanted_ to be seen with a Witcher.”

“And I’ve never been with someone so foolish- you know I adore everything about you. I’m so proud that you’re mine. I want to tell the whole world, shout it from the rooftops, sing about it in the streets-” he prattles on, gesturing wildly with the hand that isn’t holding Geralt’s.

“What? Are you in a musical now?” Geralt says, mirth in his eyes.

Jaskier rolls his eyes “You’re lucky we’re not. I’d really never shut up about how much I love you, then.” He smiles, and this time, when he leans forward to peck Geralt on the lips, the witcher returns it for a moment longer.

Geralt turns away, desperately trying to hide the blush that’s surely dusting his cheeks, but he’s sure Jaskier can still see as he mumbles, “Love you too.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to say something when the barista calls their names, their drinks placed on the old, wooden counter for them. Jaskier bounds over quickly, ever motivated by caffeine. Geralt watches as he gets their drinks; his tongue sticks out slightly as he carefully places a sleeve on each cup.

As per their usual routine, Jaskier hands Geralt his mocha before perusing the café corkboard for any interesting ads or flyers- Geralt ends up being dragged to live shows more often than he likes because of this, as if it wasn’t enough that he attends Jaskier’s shows. The musician plucks one off the board, reading it as they leave the café. He squints, bringing it close to his face to see the small font.

“You okay?” Geralt asks, tilting his head inquisitively.

“Huh? Oh, yea, yea. I just need to see the optometrist soon.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Geralt says with panic much more palpable in his voice than he intended. His mind goes straight to supplying him with a dozen scenarios of things that might be wrong with Jaskier- humans are fragile, fickle things, after all.

“Nothing. My prescription just doesn’t seem to be right anymore.” When Geralt continues to stare with furrowed brows, Jaskier chuckles lightly “It’s a perfectly normal human thing, you know. Everything just tends to get worse about our bodies the older we get. Perhaps I should get new glasses for around the house- you think the ones I have are cute though, huh?”

Geralt frowns, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut all of the sudden, “Hm.”

\----

Perhaps the normality of bodies becoming worse over time is what makes Jaskier so surprised to find that, in fact, he does not need glasses or contacts at all anymore. He had caught himself going without them from time to time, but his sight felt distinctly different. He didn’t really entertain the thought that his vision could be _perfect_ now- better than perfect, actually.

It’s not a problem, per se, that his incredibly poor vision has miraculously fixed itself. At least it hadn’t gotten worse- but getting worse is what eyes do with age. That would be normal. This is distinctly abnormal. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting in the healer’s office a week later.

It’s just a check-up, to make sure everything is normal. Surely, he finds himself worrying, there must be some kind of disease that could fix his eyes and wreck something else- his heart, perhaps. It’s just better to be safe than sorry, he justifies- that’s why he doesn’t bother telling Geralt, even if that means he had to make up a lie about meeting classmates for a group project today.

The healer comes in with their medical supplies in hand, magical and technological. He voices his concern, only to be met with an unreadable “Hmm,”- which says a lot because he can read all of Geralt’s ‘Hm’s! He’s told to hold some crystal and hum at a particular frequency- which is quite tingly. He’s almost expecting them to tell him to pat his head and rub his stomach when, finally, a little printed receipt is produced from one of the machines.

The healer reads it quickly, glancing at him over their glasses, “Your vitals don’t seem to be off at all. If anything, you’re healthier than ever. Your muscle percentage has increased substantially since your last visit, and your bone density has gone up- you’re certainly not aging. Have you perhaps had some changes in your diet recently?”

Jaskier fidgets where he sits “My boyfriend has, uh, expanded my cooking abilities past instant ramen. It’s not that I couldn’t cook. You see, I am a graduate student, and one does not always have time to cook. I’m sure you understand. So, he likes to-”

The healer smiles as they interrupt, “That’s lovely, but I was thinking something more drastic. Perhaps, you have acquired new potions?”

“No. There are an assortment in my home but none I’ve consumed.”

“Mushrooms of any kind?”

“No.”

“Have you upset or, alternatively, greatly pleased any powerful beings lately?”

Jaskier gulps, “I was attacked by a Djinn roughly two years ago- Do you- are you saying I could be cursed?!”

“Or blessed,” they smile “Perhaps you came across a demi-god in your recent travels.”

“I haven’t! I know what I have come across, and none of them have been that! Could this be fatal? Becoming healthy until I die?” he squeaks.

“No, no,” they say smoothly, offering him an encouraging smile, yet somehow it doesn’t help “I simply wanted to explore the possibility that your changes, perhaps, could be magical in nature. I’m going to write you a recommendation for a specialist, if that makes you feel more comfortable. Keira is one of the best medical mages in the continent, you know.”

“Yea, I know.” They met last year when she threatened to use Geralt and him as lab rats if they intruded on her research again- a small misunderstanding, really. They did help her with a very real mutant rat problem in the end, after all. She’s just about as friendly as… well, the rest of the sorceresses. So, maybe he’ll pass on that one…

“She’s an expert on plagues and magical diseases, you know.”

 _Diseases? Plagues? Curses?!_ Jaskier sighs as he exits the building. This was supposed to be a routine check-up. He was supposed to leave here feeling happy and healthier than ever. But what good is superb eyesight when he might be cursed!? Oh gosh, Geralt is going to be upset if Jaskier somehow picked up something on one of their hunts. Sure, sure, they’re all good side effect for now, but what if he’s turning into something less human? What if becomes something like harpy or a griffin- they have good eyesight and dense bones, right? _Gods_.

Keira is out of the question. He isn’t going to let this fester for months while he waits to pay hundreds to see a witch he knows finds him annoying and will quickly blab to his lover about whatever is wrong with him.

As he thinks about it, he isn’t sure why he didn’t start with this first. Jaskier pulls out his phone, quickly sending a text:

_Jaskier: I need a favor <3_

_Yennefer: What does the court Jester need now?_

_Jaskier: Can I come over?_

\---

He tries not to think of it too much as he drives over, but he can’t deny the rush of relief he feels when he pulls into Yennefer’s driveway, the large, black and white house greeting him. He doesn’t even make it to the top step of the porch, wine bottle ready in his hand, when the purple door is flung open and Yennefer is standing before him.

“What’s wrong?” she barks.

Jaskier skids to a halt, pulling her into a quick, and hopefully casual, hug. She doesn’t reciprocate much- never does, but it doesn’t deter him. “What makes you think somethings wrong? Can’t I just visit my favorite witch?”

“No, because if nothing was wrong, you would’ve said I was your ‘favorite bitch’,” she frowns. “Besides, I can feel your nervous energy.”

She’s right; there’s no use in denying it. So, he sighs in defeat “Fine, fine. Okay, there’s something wrong. Can we just talk about this inside? It’s hot out here and I know you have that magic air conditioning.”

“I could make it snow if you prefer, but-”

“It’ll cost me. Yea, yea I know. I brought your favorite wine already, dear. What else would you want?” he says, shoving the bottle toward her.

As Jaskier explains his predicament, Yennefer ushers him inside the house, down a spiraling staircase, and through a few corridors to her laboratory. Always with a dramatic flair, the whole thing is furnished with deep, rich colors, lots of velvet and heavy curtains- it all exudes a Victorian style that one would associate with magic. It’s quite fashionable- there’s just one too many paintings with eyes that follow him for his taste.

He gets shoved onto a plush chaise as Yennefer begins rifling through a plethora of magical instruments. She pulls out various jars of oddities, metal contraptions, crystals, and books, until finally, she seems to find what she was looking for. Yennefer turns to face him holding an old metal device, a combination of modern technology and magic, he’d guess.

“Stay still,” she says as she begins to wave the device over him. The thing beeps softly from time to time, and Yennefer hums thoughtfully she reads the screen.

“What is it?”

“I said, sit still.”

“I am sitting still. I’m just asking a question,” Jaskier protests.

Yennefer sighs “If you don’t shut up, I won’t know.”

Jaskier does his best not to fidget, but each beep of the machine and inquisitive ‘hm’ from Yennefer has him itching with anticipation. Perhaps that is why he jumps so much when they hear a familiar voice yelling from the front of the house.

“Yen! Yen, where are you? I’m worried about Jaskier. He’s been-” Both the musician and the sorceress freeze in their places when Geralt comes bounding through the door, the three of them caught in a staring contest “-acting weird lately.” He finishes his sentence.

“Hey, darling,” Jaskier grins as casually as he can with Yen’s machine beeping at him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“What are you doing?” Geralt asks, his expression caught somewhere in between suspicion and concern.

“I was just-” Jaskier scrambles for words “Helping Yen with her latest project.”

Geralt looks incredulous, “For class, right?”

Jaskier, instead, turns the question around on him, “Why are you here?”

“I- same.” Geralt chokes out. He’s just as guilty as Jaskier is, snooping around Yennefer’s instead of asking Jaskier himself what was going on, but it is something the musician is willing to overlook.

Yennefer, however, scoffs “Oh please, we could hear you screaming about your boyfriend like a lost puppy.”

Geralt shifts where he stands, eyes drifting to the alchemy table, something to stare at other than Jaskier. While he tries to find his words, Yennefer has abandoned Jaskier to scan Geralt next, similar beeps, if not more, registering on the thing.

“I was worried.” He explains “You’ve been… flighty this week.”

 _I’m cursed,_ Jaskier thinks _, something is wrong, and I don’t know what, and it will only worry you more._

But can he really hide that, now? Jaskier sighs, “I’m sorry love. It’s just-”

“You rubbed off on him.” Yennefer interrupts

“ _Excuse me_?” Geralt exclaims.

Jaskier furrows his brows “Is that supposed to be some kind of sexual innuendo?”

“The Djinn’s magic must have been only temporary, or you two somehow reconnected your soul bond. Either way, some of your,” she gestures haphazardly in Geralt’s general direction “ _witcherness_ has altered him.”

“What does that mean?” Geralt asks, looking to Jaskier for answers.

“I- I had some oddities pop up recently- my vision is fixed, better than the average human’s. I visited the doctors and they said my bones are dense- denser, I mean. I know I’m too young to really be aging, but did you notice my grey hairs turned brown again? I thought maybe something was wrong, so I asked for Yennefer’s help.”

Geralt’s eyes go wide, panic filling them as he turns to Yennefer, “Is he turning into a witcher?”

“No, no. It’s not progressing, and these effects aren’t to the extend yours are. My guess is that it took affect some time ago, but he’s too dull to notice.”

“Hey!” Jaskier pipes up only to be ignored.

“We can’t be sure exactly what this means, but he’s certainly healthier. I would suspect he will have an extended life span, similar to that of a witcher’s.”

“And what if it does get worse?” Geralt frowns.

 _Worse?_ Jaskier can’t help but feel a sinking in the pit of his stomach. How is this worse? Shouldn’t Geralt be happy? This potentially means that Jaskier can not only spend the rest of _his_ life with Geralt, but the rest of _Geralt’s_ too. Unless… no, he pushes the thoughts away. Geralt is just worried, right?

“We’ll keep an eye on it,” she says, softening her voice. Geralt grimaces, but nods.

Jaskier makes sure to thank Yennefer thoroughly on their way out, though, if he’s being honest, his head is still spinning a bit, the real implications of what this means still sinking in.

\--

He’s not sure if this is a celebration, exactly, but they needed to talk. So, the two of them find themselves at the beach, close to where they got boozy milkshakes on their first ‘not date’. It was a convenient place close to Yennefer’s, yet it brings back so much nostalgia.

They walk in silence. The air around them is filled with the sound of waves crashing against the shore and birds cawing as they fly overhead. There’s so much to say, yet it seems neither can find the words. Something seems to be bothering Jaskier, based on the way he falls silent, tongue sticking out the slightest.

“I thought you would be happier.” He finally spits out.

“Hm?”

“About what Yen said, but you look… upset.”

He’s not upset about the prospect of having Jaskier around longer, it’s just the circumstances that this occurred through- These things, his mutations, were done to him. He never got a choice. Now, as a result of embracing his bond with Jaskier, he’s spread some of that to him. Of course, the man will look and feel more human than Geralt, granted that the changes don’t progress, but now he will know a life without aging. He will watch friends and family members die away and be left behind. Perhaps they’re fortunate to have a number of non-human friends. But Geralt worries, nonetheless.

“Hm,” Geralt grumbles “Do you want this?”

“What?”

“Your- my witcherness that’s affecting you.”

Jaskier giggles “Of course. I don’t have to pay for glasses anymore.”

His nonchalance over it does much to help lighten the weight on Geralt’s shoulders. His voice is soft, almost shy, when he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry. It might have been nothing. And if it wasn’t- if I was cursed or affected somehow by any of the magic we often face, I was worried you wouldn’t let me keep following you to hunts- to protect me, you know.”

Geralt’s eyes glue themselves to his shoes as he processes what Jaskier said. Has he really made Jaskier feel that way? Geralt wants to protect him, but not if it means keeping secrets between them. Besides, he snorts “As if I can control anything you do.”

“I’m sorry-” they both say in unison.

Jaskier laughs nervously, “I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to.”

Jaskier smiles, an expression of relief on his face as he squeezes Geralt’s hand. Still, he seems unsure.

“I am happy- about what Yen said.” Geralt tries to clarify, the words all stuck circling in his brain, reluctant to come out and expose the reality of his vulnerability. “Fuck, I’m relieved.”

“You are?” Jaskier asks, a twinkle in his eyes.

Geralt sighs, willing himself to be honest. “I’m a witcher. I’m not supposed to be scared of anything, but the thought of losing you too soon terrifies me. I’m thankful to take ‘old age’ off of the list of things I need to worry about.”

Jaskier grins brightly before launching himself at Geralt in a kiss, and for a moment, it feels as though the world stops. All the sounds around them fade out except for the calm ebb and flow of the ocean and Jaskier’s heartbeat.

“You couldn’t get rid of me four years ago, love. It’s not going to happen now,” Jaskier teases, his lips ghosting over Geralt’s.

The witcher smiles, his heart a little too full, “Good.”

\--

They sit on a log, Geralt’s arm around him, watching the waves for some time. After everything, it’s nice to have a quiet moment together. Geralt makes a mental note to text Yennefer later. Even if he forgets, she’ll be at their weekly game night on Friday along with her friend Triss and his brothers.

Geralt is pulled out of his thoughts when Jaskier pipes up, “Oh, look, Geralt!” Around their feet is a pile of what seems to be sea glass, made perfectly smooth in the eb and flow of the tide. Each white stone glimmers with rainbow iridescence, veins of golden shimmer running through them. Jaskier leans down, scooping up a few of them to inspect. As he moves them around in the sunlight, rainbow beams reflect back onto his face, “They’re gorgeous. I’ll take some home with us.”

“They’re pretty, but they’re rocks. What are you going to do with rocks?”

“I’ll put them in Delila’s planter.”- one of his cacti or was it a succulent; Geralt can never keep track. “As a memento.” Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him. “Oh, love, I know you were relieved, in a way, that our bond was broken. I don’t mind, but it’s rather romantic, don’t you think? Our love is so strong that it can mend what even the most powerful magic could break. And today, we have learned a wonderful thing. That’s a day worth remembering.” He says wistfully, snuggling closer to Geralt.

“Hm, that or the Djinn’s wish just wore off.” Geralt teases.

Jaskier says nothing, content to roll his eyes as he slips his treasured rocks into his coat pockets. When they get home, he arranges them around his cactus, and Great wouldn’t admit it, but he quite likes them- likes remembering the day every time he sees them.

_And he thinks, maybe he won’t be alone again._

\-----

It’s a crisp, late-summer evening when they arrive home from a weekend-long hunt. This one brought them to a mountainside cabin, provided by the very generous contractor. Sure, Geralt had to take care of an invasive fiend in the woods, but they were fortunate: it was a youngin, still unable to control any telepathic abilities, and an easier kill than most. The cabin was booked for four days, so they made the most of it- a mini vacation. Jaskier is still running on the high of it all. His song was on the radio as he drove home- a novelty that never fails to amaze him, and soon, it will be Geralt’s birthday. Everything is going great!

_Until it isn’t._

Geralt unlocks the apartment, swinging the door open, and they’re met with sight of- of _what_ , Jaskier isn’t sure.

There are _burn marks_ all over their carpets and curtains. Every fabric surface seems to be shredded, and _oh gods_ , their new couch is in tatters!

The culprits- three of them, barely turn to look at them. Small, scaled things run frantically throughout the apartment as Geralt and Jaskier are momentarily stunned in the doorway. The creatures look like little reptilian roosters. Their scales are a warm, dark brown. Where the light catches them, a rainbow iridescence reflects off of them, especially on the long, pointed tails which, much like a traditional chicken’s, bounce as they skitter around. On webbed feet, these monsters are much faster, though he supposes they have their young age to thank for their apparent clumsiness.

When one spots them, it charges at them at full speed. Geralt yanks Jaskier inside the apartment, slamming the door “Don’t let them out.” He growls. The sound of the door slamming seems to alarm the beast as it scampers away, letting out a horrible shriek, like a broken chew toy.

“What the fuck are these things?!” Jaskier yelps, taking in the full extent of the destruction caused by these beasts. Thank the gods they left Roach with Eskel. In their kitchen, one of the creatures has ripped open a can of tuna. It gobbles it down with a disturbing enthusiasm, showing the sharp rows of teeth in its beak. It looks at Jaskier for only a moment before letting out a small puff of smoke and sparks, then scurrying into their living room.

“Kurczaki, I think,” Geralt says, rushing to the kitchen. He flings open the cabinets, looking for something. Jaskier, on the other hand, goes right for the knife block, picking out the biggest one. “No.” Geralt fusses.

“What? Geralt, they’re-”

“Carnivorous, and the scent of other Kurczaki’s blood will send them into a frenzy.”

Jaskier flinches as he hears the sound of shattering glass coming from the living room. He doesn’t even bother to look. He’ll be lucky if any of his clothes make it out of this intact. “What do we do? Drown them in the bathtub?”

“They’re semi-aquatic. Barbed wings, webbed feet, gills on its wattle.”

“What the hell is a wattle?!”

Geralt rolls his eyes “The fleshy thing under their beaks.”

“That’s very educational, but how do we get rid of them?!”

Geralt pulls their largest stew pot out of the cabinet, handing it to Jaskier as he continues to rummage “They’re rare. I’ve only seen drawings of them- notoriously hard to kill. That’s why they went nearly extinct. Witchers hunted them down in droves.”

“Okay?” Jaskier says, flinching when he sees one of the things peering around the corner of the counter at him. In the distance, he can hear the two others squawking erratically accompanied by the sound of tearing fabric. “Geralt! It’s looking at me!”

“Stay calm. We can’t aggravate them. Gotta catch them. Should take them to Vesemir.” He explains before growling, “Where the fuck is the lid to that pot?!”

“I thought you were a witcher, not a wildlife conservationist.” Jaskier complains, opening the one drawer Geralt hadn’t looked in and pulling out said lid.

Geralt frowns as he takes the pot and lid from Jaskier, “Go get Roach’s carrying case. Should be able to fit one in there. Just, try not to hurt any of them.”

“Of course, as you wish, mighty witcher: friend of demon chickens,” Jaskier mumbles sardonically as he sets off to retrieve the plastic case from the spare bedroom. Thankfully, he notices the kurczaki can’t open doors, and while the door itself is scraped from top to bottom, their bedroom seems to have been spared from their apparent destruction. It is a small, yet infinitely significant victory.

The next few minutes are a flurry of horrible bird shrieks, running from one end of the apartment to the other chasing them, and a lot of exasperation. Finally, Jaskier and Geralt have one cornered in the bathroom, but it just won’t stay still, and they can’t seem to get it in their makeshift cage.

“Axii the motherfucker!” Jaskier yells.

Geralt grimaces “Already tried. Doesn’t work.”

“What? Not enough brains up there?” Jaskier directs at the kurczak before it begins to peck at him. He lets out an undignified squeal, silently vowing _not_ to insult the demon chicken again as he dodges its attacks.

Apparently acting as bait is quite effective, as while the creature is distracted by Jaskier, Geralt is able to throw the pot over the beast. The loud clattering sounds of beak and claws hitting metal reverberate throughout the apartment while Geralt, miraculously, manages to flip the pot over, closing the lid on the beast. It flails erratically inside, but the witcher quickly secures the lid with duct tape.

They both breathe a sigh of relief before reality dawns on them: there are two more kurczaki to wrangle.

The second goes a bit smoother. The largest one seems to be the slowest, and Geralt is able to Aard it into the cat carrier with a soft thud. Guessing from its enthusiastic attempts to get free, it was unharmed. The last is the hardest, manly because they don’t have a proper containment for it. They can’t grab them with their hands, lest they wish to feel the sting of barbed wings digging into their flesh, so Jaskier finds himself with oven mitts shaped like sharks on his hands, shoving a semi-aquatic, reptilian chicken into a bucket that Geralt stabbed air holes in like they’re the dumbest witcher duo in the world.

They will have to take the beasts to Vesemir. Jaskier isn’t sure if this means a feast, an autopsy, or a few additional, very odd farm animals at Kaer Morhen, but he’s eager to get the creatures off their hands. For a moment though, the two sit on the ground, catching their breath with utter destruction around them. Even the kurczaki fall silent, as if they all were overexerted from their valiant battle.

Geralt has small cuts all over his hands, and Jaskier can feel blood dripping down his face from a cut on his forehead, but overall, they’re fine. No one was hurt too badly; the apartment didn’t burn down; Roach is safe, far away from here; and most of their valuable belongings are safely hidden in the bedroom. It could be worse.

“Your rocks were _monster_ _eggs!?_ ” Geralt growls, finally.

“How was I supposed to know?! _You’re_ the witcher!”

Geralt grunts, but he reaches out for his lover, his fingers interlock with Jaskier’s, always seeking affection. He’s tired, and nearly everything they own is ruined, but Geralt finds a faint smile on his face.

“Is this a maintenance request issue, you think?” Jaskier chides.

Geralt begins to laugh, the stress of the evening seeping out of him, “We’re going to be evicted.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine! We can clean this place up.” Jaskier says, barely containing his giggles. “We’re not going to be evicted.”

\---

They are promptly notified of eviction within the week.

This leaves them in a rush to find a new place, lest they live out of a hotel in the meantime, or worse, Vesemir’s house. The cost of damages rather drained their savings account, not to mention everything they had to replace. While they could go without furniture, almost all their food was stolen or strewn about the apartment. And though everything in the fridge was untouched, the bastards chewed through the wires, and without power, it all went bad. Meanwhile, the creatures responsible for their eviction have found a plush life on Vesemir’s ranch.

Jaskier and the three witchers sit in Eskel’s living room, each scrolling through real estate websites in the search for a new apartment. Geralt’s brothers are many things, but most of all, they’re horrible teases. Without brothers of his own and rather restrictive parents, the dynamic of Geralt’s family was entirely new to Jaskier. He loves it! They don’t care about putting on fancy airs or hiding who they are. They just have fun- laugh together. That’s something Jaskier’s family never did. And at the end of the day, he knows they’d do anything to protect Geralt, and Jaskier too.

That doesn’t mean that they won’t try to aggravate each other, though.

“What about Velen?” Lambert says, barely concealing his teasing grin as he knows full-well he’s only suggesting the worst places to live.

“No.” Geralt growls, glaring at him.

Lambert chuckles “Aw, I thought you were desperate. Or are you suddenly okay with Papa Vesemir overhearing you two banging?”

“I’d rather live a life of celibacy.” Geralt rolls his eyes.

Jaskier can’t help but snort at that, “A whole lifetime?”

“Mhm.”

Lambert laughs loudly “Oh, please. I bet you’d crack after, hm, six months max.”

“Six months?” Eskel says “I’d give him three months.”

“Alright, put your money where your mouth is, goat boy.”

Jaskier is about to put money down for one month when Geralt interrupts “No one is betting anything!” he growls “We’re getting an apartment if it’s the last thing I do.”

Jaskier gives him a sympathetic look, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder “Love, the vacancy rate is so low this time of year, and you know it’s hard to get approved for these kinds of things after an eviction, what with our last five denials,”

“And the four others that blocked your numbers as soon as you applied,” Lambert adds helpfully.

Jaskier continues, ignoring him, “Maybe Velen isn’t that bad of a suburb.”

“There are at least three murders there a week. Our neighbors might as well be drowners, for fuck’s sake. It’s not happening. You’re not living somewhere like that.”

‘ _you’re_ not living somewhere like that’- not ‘we’re not’. The truth of the matter is, Geralt could care less where he lives, even if it is a bigoted, dangerous area rife with kidnappings and murder. He would live in the woods for all he cares, but he wants to protect Jaskier, provide something nice for him. That, and the forlorn look on his face as he scrolls through apartments is what makes up Jaskier’s mind.

See, there was an alternative option that Jaskier had been considering. His family, though devoid of love, kindness, and laughter, did have one thing: Money. He hadn’t contacted them in years, didn’t plan to, either. But there is a bank account with his name on it, a trust fund they set up. It is not to be mistaken for a sign of affection or care. No, they put it there when he moved out to prove to him that he couldn’t survive without them. They’ll be notified if he draws money from it, which is precisely why he hasn’t. However, as long as it’s sitting there unused, he might as well find the most spiteful way to use it.

“Maybe you can move in with Lambert,” Eskel teases, the youngest witcher immediately recoiling.

“Oh, hell no! I have a roommate.”

Geralt’s eyes narrow, a mischievous smirk on his face “A roommate we’ve never met. We barely even know anything about this _Aiden_ \- what kinda idiot would be friends with you?”

“Fifty crowns he’s not real.” Eskel says- “No, a hundred.”

“That’s not fair,” Geralt protests, “He obviously isn’t. it’s a rigged game.”

“Too bad, you didn’t place your bet soon enough.” Eskel smirks defiantly, as Lambert goes more and more red between them.

Jaskier leans forward with a mischievous grin, “Lambert,” he says softly, patronizingly so, “You’re not going to let them say those things about you, are you? I know you have friends. So, why don’t you bring Aiden to game night this Friday? Prove them wrong.”

Lambert glances between them, scowling horribly “Fuck all of you.”

\--

That night, tucked into bed in Vesemir’s guestroom, Jaskier resolves to tell Geralt his plan. Geralt is curled around Jaskier, holding him tightly against his chest. His breath tickles Jaskier’s ear as he presses his face into the crook of his neck.

“Darling, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Talk, then.” Geralt murmurs, pressing closer still.

Jaskier huffs, always amused by Geralt “I never told you, but I have a trust fund from my parents. I can explain, though-”

Geralt snorts, “What? You worked at the shittiest bar in the continent, and you’re telling me you had money the whole time?” he nips at Jaskier’s ear, the musician squirming under him.

“I never touched it because I didn’t want them to be able to take credit for who I am, what I’ve done. They would think I was a failure or that I owed them for it. I was afraid- but, you see, I’ve been thinking, and I want to use it to buy a house. For us.”

Somehow, Geralt finds his mind blanking, fixating on Jaskier’s proposal. A house is a big commitment. They’re soulmates. Forever is implied. Yet, the doubt lingering in Geralt’s mind forces him to wonder if Jaskier would truly desire an entire lifetime with him. An extended lifetime at that.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“This is different. I know living in apartments is hard on you with the noise and all, and I love you. I want somewhere that can be just ours. Besides, my parents aren’t going to claim they had any hand in providing a home for me and my _boyfriend_. We’ll put it in both our names, of course.”

“Right.” Geralt hums quietly “Is that what you want? A house? With me? Long term?” _It’s harder to leave when a house is involved._

Jaskeir snorts, “More than anything, my love. Don’t be foolish.”

“I just,” he whispers “never thought…”

Jaskier laughs, wiggling around in Geralt’s arms to face him “You deserve a home, long term.”

It isn’t the house Geralt is shocked about. Jaskier probably knows that, though. It’s a big step, a show of commitment. And that’s something the witcher never expected before Jaskier came along. Geralt smiles, nuzzling his face into Jaskier’s neck, pressing kisses to the delicate skin there “Anywhere with you is home.”

\--

Finding a house is a considerably easier prospect than apartment shopping had been. There are a few to choose from that fit their criteria. Geralt does not make choosing one easier, however. Each house tour they go on, the witcher looks like he’s going to keel over at any minute. He says almost nothing while the realtor is around, and normally ends up telling Jaskier that he doesn’t mind where they end up. He’s out of his comfort zone and freezing up because of it.

Big surprise.

Jaskier is left to evaluate his interest based on facial expression and “hm”s alone- so, nothing new. He sees the way Geralt grimaces in busy neighborhoods with kids loudly playing in the streets. He notices his nose wrinkling at a particularly old home’s musky scent. And Jaskier notices the way he sighs at the distant roar of the freeway at one city home.

It’s looking grim until Jaskier stumbles upon the perfect house with a for sale sign on his way home from school. It’s a large house on the edge of the city with lots of space between neighbors, but not too far. They could still make friends. But there’s small stables off the side of the house, and a guest house out back. The view is gorgeous, nature all around them. The yard will be a lot of work, but-

“We could get a horse,” Is the first thing Geralt says when he sees it. The twinkle in his eyes tells Jaskier he doesn’t have much of a choice. It’s not as close to the city as he had preferred, but well, the witcher life does bring unexpected things. It’s probably for the best.

\--

Moving is much easier considering how much of their belongings were ruined. With the help of Eskel, Lambert, and Aiden, Lambert’s surprisingly real boyfriend, they’re moved in no time, leaving Geralt and Jaskier to relax in their new home.

Boxes all around them and scarcely any furniture which survived ‘the night of the prickly bastards’, as Jaskier always puts it, the two relax with their cold pizza and wine, right out of the bottle as they couldn’t be assed to find and unpack their wine glasses. Music plays softly from Jaskier’s phone, filling the large room with some slow, romantic song. And Jaskier is going on about his decoration plans for the house- _their_ house. A witcher with a house, who would have imagined…

It’s all perfect.

Maybe Geralt has had a bit too much to drink, or maybe he’s just gotten sentimental in his old age, but once they’re finished eating, he finds himself standing, holding out a hand to Jaskier.

“Dance with me?” he nearly cringes as he hears himself ask.

But Jaskier’s dazzling smile quickly chases the embarrassment away. “Dance? I thought you’d never ask,” he grins, hopping to his feet quickly. “Actually, I didn’t know you could dance.”

Geralt pulls him by the hand to the open space in the room, his arm looping tightly around Jaskier’s waist “I can slow dance. That’s all.” He murmurs, swaying them slowly with the music.

“Oh, darling, I’ll teach you more, then.”

“You’re pushing it,” Geralt grumbles.

Jaskier laughs, light and cheery before he settles to rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. When he talks, the witcher can feel warm breath tickle his ear “That’s what I do.”

“Mhm.”

“You love me for it, though.

“I do,” he says- he loves him for it, and because of it.

Jaskier has spent their entire relationship pushing. If he didn’t push that first night when they met, Geralt surely would have run away. He would be left to wonder his whole life about his mysterious soulmate, the human he denied in a bar. But Jaskier was brave even then and far too bold to be ignored. It was his pushing that made them friends. His pushing which caused Geralt to see he was loved- could be loved. Fuck, it was Jaskier’s pushing that led to their first ‘I love you’s. Geralt hadn’t even realized the extend of the crippling loneliness he felt until that space in his life was filled by Jaskier. Who knew one human could change so much?

He finds he’s stopped dancing, the two frozen in an embrace where they stand. Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind, but he peers up at Geralt curiously. Maybe it’s the euphoria of the night, or the way those thoughts swirl in his mind, but Geralt looks at Jaskier, and he swears he can see all the galaxy in those blue eyes, and

“Marry me.”

Geralt hears himself say the words as if they slipped right off his tongue without his permission, yet, he can’t will himself to regret it.

Jaskier’s eyes double in size, his heartbeat audibly speeding up. “You mean it?”

It’s a chance to take it back. Geralt’s obviously not prepared; he doesn’t have a ring, no proposal plan or speech. They’d only briefly even discussed marriage and it was just that both of them would be fine with or without it. But tonight, Geralt knows what he wants. He wants that official aspect to it; he wants to call this man his husband and show him off to the whole world; and most of all, he wants this forever- no doubts, no questions about it. He will have to find the words to express that later, but for now, his panicked brain struggles to answer.

He nods, offering a sheepish smile “I do. I really do. I never thought I would- could have something like this, but you showed me… you showed me what love is. And I want to love you as best I can forever.” Geralt trails off when the smell of salt reaches him, and as he looks down at Jaskier, eyes glistening as he stares at Geralt. The witcher panics. What did he do wrong? He thought Jaskier would want this, he stumbles over his words, trying to rectify whatever has upset his lover “Fuck- shit- I didn’t mean- I know we don’t have to get married to do that, but I want to- wanted to- it’s fine. We don’t have-” Geralt’s nervous rambling is abruptly cut off with the firm press of Jaskier’s lips to his.

He sways where he stands, overcome by the passion of it all as Jaskier’s hands make their way into his hair, and he tugs the man closer to him until as much of them is pressed together as they can manage.

“Yes,” Jaskier breathes, breaking their kiss to press their foreheads together instead.

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you, you oaf!” he giggles, and Geralt feels a wave of relief wash over him. They kiss again through joyful laughter and big grins until it becomes a heated press of lips and tongues and hushed declarations of lasting love.

_For the first time, Geralt truly knows he will never be alone again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHhhh!  
> Thank you everyone for their patience, support, sweet comments, and kudos!! Fun fact: This is the first multi chapter fic I have actually finished lol. They normally end up abandoned, so I'm especially happy this one is completed. 
> 
> I don't think I shared this on the last chapter, but [Stuffiliketoreblog](https://stuffiliketoreblog.tumblr.com/post/615729933667401728) drew this lovely picture of Jaskier with his tattoos :)

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> Tumblr: @cats-obsessions, feel free to message me if you want to talk about the Witcher or other nonsense :)


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